Slytherin Love
by ZazzyLele
Summary: Harry had a lot of issues, not least of which, the madman hell-bent on killing him. He looked around, trying to find a way to explain part of the problem to Draco as simply as possible. "I'm...pale" he said at last. "I'm not that tan myself". Non-magic AU, mentor!Snape, Slash, warnings: abuse, cutting.
1. Chapter 1

"So, Harry, do you play soccer?" the man asked. He was still trying to make conversation even after the last hour and a half of monosyllabic answers. Harry didn't know why he was trying so hard. It was painful to watch, never mind being on the receiving end of it.

"Not really," Harry replied, staring out his window, rubbing his sweaty hands together. It was pouring outside, of course. It had started the moment they had left the English countryside and had crossed over into Scottish territory.

Harry was hating this, and he just couldn't believe he had actually agreed to it. He should have known better than to trust Chief of Police Dumbledore. Never trust strangers.

Yet here he was, in a black, bullet-proof car, with Black. _He_ was not a very old acquaintance either.

The man – unkept appearance and dark wavy hair long enough to have his Aunt grimace sourly when she had seen him – had been introduced by Dumbledore as Sirius Black. Apparently, he was out on probation thanks to Dumbledore, after having spent sixteen years in prison for drunk driving and assault. Of course, he said it was all untrue, that he had been set up, but that's just what every criminal said. Besides, he'd been drunk, it was only too likely he simply didn't remember.

"Well, if you find you're interested, Hogwarts has a great soccer team. Your father played, but I guess you knew that. He played central forward. Man, he was the best! Had us win the cup all five years he was on the team!" Sirius barked out a laugh, which made Harry flinch. It was very loud and throaty.

One positive thing had to be said about Sirius: he talked a lot about his parents, particularly his dad. Apparently, they had been best mates at school or something.

Harry had never known much about his parents. He knew they hadn't been great people – and the fact that they had been friends with an ex-convict only proved that – and that his relatives didn't like to talk about them.

After ninety minutes of car-ride with Sirius, Harry had come to know that his father had looked just like him but for his eyes. His mother had had green eyes. She had also been very bright, although Harry wasn't sure she had been all _that_ bright since she married his father. His father had been smart enough, but he and his gang had been the troublemakers of the school. 'Marauders' was what they had called themselves.

Now he knew his father had also been a jock. Honestly, Harry was almost glad they weren't around to see what a great disappointment he turned out to be. He wasn't bright, wasn't a leader, wasn't a jock... he was pretty much nothing.

"Ah! Here we are, Harry. That's Hogwarts right there!" Sirius pointed in front of them. An actual _castle_ had emerged from the foggy rain of the Scottish landscape.

It had towers and banners and everything.

It looked ridiculous.

And about the most snobbish thing Harry had ever seen in his short life.

It also really annoyed him that Sirius found a way to say his name in every sentence he spoke, as if they weren't the only two people there. It was still odd hearing his name pronounced aloud, and the continuing repetition was freaking him out.

The car pulled into a car park already filled with students. They all wore black uniforms, with ties and skirts standing out in various colours.

Harry hastily copied Sirius in getting out of the car, and watched him as he stood with his feet planted apart, hands on his hips, breathing in the damp air of an early September morning.

"Ah yes, still smells the same here. I guarantee you'll like it here, Harry. And it's the safest place for you right now." he said. Harry hugged his small travel bag to his chest, and said nothing. There were too many people, too much chatter, it was making him numb.

Scouting the area with his eyes, Harry's stare immediately focused on the darkest and most threatening-looking presence in the yard.

It was a tall, thin man, with a huge nose and curtain-like hair, dressed all in black clothes, a little old style.

It was as if the man had felt his gaze, for he looked up from talking to a bunch of green-tie students – the colour was the only distinguishing feature among the crowd that surrounded him, they all looked exactly the same to Harry otherwise – and sent him a glare.

If looks could kill, someone had once said.

"Dirty Snivellus. I can't believe he's actually been allowed around kids." Sirius muttered. He looked down, and noticed Harry's wide-eye stare.

"Be careful around old Snivellus, Harry. We went to school together. He was of the bad sort, a Slytherin... and Gryffindors and Slytherins have a history of rivalry that goes back to the founders... you'll be in Gryffindor you know, for sure, just like your parents and me." he patted Harry on the back. It hurt like bitch where his Uncle's lashes were still raw.

Harry couldn't help wondering if he would disappoint his parents yet again. For how he saw it, he was going to end up being anything but Gryffindor. It would be just like him.

The history of the founding of the castle, together with the odd and conservatory tradition of dividing students into four Houses, had all been in the acceptance letter he had received after his birthday.

Usually kids started Hogwarts at eleven, and were 'sorted' into their house upon arrival. Harry however, would be entering as a sixteen year old.

He still couldn't believe he had accepted this. Sure, he had been starving and in pain after a full three days without meals and the nasty punishment Vernon had served him after the news they had heard from the telly, which had scared them shitless. All this though, looking back, was not justification enough for thinking Dumbledore's idea of a 'safe haven' away from Surrey and the mad killer after his hide was actually a _good_ idea.

 _On the plus side it's far away from my relatives too,_ Harry reminded himself. It had been the decisive bullet point on his _pros and cons_ list…

* * *

It turned out he was Slytherin.

Harry and Sirius had been ushered in a small study by an elderly lady, grey hair secured in a headache-tight bun, lips pressed in a disapproving line.

She had introduced herself as Headmistress McGonagall, stated what they were going to do – a word and picture association test to determine his House – and then had proceeded to do it, throwing a disapproving glance at Sirius' puerile demeanour. She was no-nonsense, direct to the point and strict-looking. Harry didn't necessarily like her but he could acknowledge she was one of those people he'd have to be careful with.

The test lasted about fifteen minutes, after which the Headmistress wrote _Slytherin_ on a white official-looking piece of paper and escorted him to his referent-professor.

Sirius lost the shit-eating grin and the bouncing on his toes after seeing that. Harry kept his head down and didn't look at his outraged expression.

"Professor Snape will be your Head of House. For any problems, emergencies or whatnot, you go to him." she explained as they took flights and flights of stairs going down.

"…What now? Old Sniv-" Sirius began with a half-growl. Harry felt a thrill of dread in his stomach as the woman shot him a fiery glare, knocked and opened the door to another study. Harry's instincts were more often than not, very right.

The man that rose to welcome them was indeed 'Snivellus'. He looked even more foreboding and cold from this close. And black. The contrast between his pale face and the rest of him was striking. Even his eyes were discs of liquid onyx.

"Severus, this is Harry Potter, the new student recommended by Dumbledore. He's been sorted into Slytherin. Mr. Potter, this is Professor Snape." The Headmistress said. Harry concentrated on keeping his eyes still and focused somewhere on the ground and not dart them around like a terrified bird's.

He exhaled very quietly, trying to expel with the air also the tight knot of tension in his shoulders. No such luck. The moment the man spoke he was back as wired as a string.

"A pleasure, to be sure, Mr. Potter" his voice was deep and had a peculiar diction.

"Now, Headmistress, you cannot honestly think _Snape,_ " Sirius growled the name, "to be fit-"

"May I inquire as to what _you_ are doing here, Black?" Snape spit out the name with no less hatred than Sirius, yet still retained that perfect composure and diction he seemed to incorporate in every word he said. Harry trembled at the hostility in the room and curled his fingers into tight fists.

"Chief Dumbledore entrusted me to see that Harry has everything he needs!"

"I cannot believe anyone would _entrust_ you with anything…"

"That is quite enough, young men. Mr. Black, you may see yourself to the door, you know the school. I have to prepare the Hall for the Great Feast and I will leave Mr. Potter in your capable hands now, Severus" the Headmistress gave a sharp nod to all three of them before leaving.

Harry's back throbbed at the double meaning in her words. Harry locked his eyes on Snape's right shoulder and fought back the instincts that told him to flee. Or vomit.

"You were dismissed, Black." Snape said softly, his whole body still frozen in clear hatred.

"Be careful Snivellus. I'll do the impossible to make sure Harry is re-sorted into his rightful house." Sirius throaty voice rumbled before he stalked off. Harry felt the weight of those black eyes the moment they turned to his head.

"I had wondered when I'd get to see the Potter spawn. I had deluded myself I would never get the pleasure," the Professor said in a particularly cadenced tone. Harry wanted to look up to gauge his expression but knew it was counter-productive to stare a dangerous beast in the eye.

"I don't know how you ended up in my House, Potter, but I assure you, if you will not attain to our rules and conduct yourself in a manner worthy of a Slytherin, I _will_ find a way to remove you." he finished in the softest of tones. Harry did not look up, gave one slow nod hoping it would be enough, and worked on keeping his breathing under control.

It was at this point he thought he might have been better off at his relatives' house after all. At least there he _knew_ what was expected of him. He _knew_ the rules, and how to behave and what to say... he was completely blind here. For all he knew, he might walk in the wrong way and then who knew what his punishment would be.

"Come then, I will show you your room." Snape marched ahead of him and proceeded to climb down yet _other_ flights of stairs.

The Slytherin dorms were located in the old dungeons. Luckily, there were heaters. Unluckily, the school obviously saved on light.

"You will attend all your lessons, starting at half eight in the morning. Your presence at breakfast and lunch is not mandatory, but you _are_ required to show yourself at supper, six o'clock. Curfew is at eleven. As Head of House, I will not tolerate you being where you are not supposed to be, at any time." Snape explained as they walked, "In your room will be your schedule. Ask another Slytherin if you need directions to your classes and I do not abide either."

Harry kept his mouth shut and walked behind him. His knuckles were aching from how tightly he was holding his travel sack.

"This will be your room," the Professor knocked once before opening the door.

The room already had one occupant. The boy was slim, dark curly hair and pale skin, lounging on his bed with an open book in front of him.

"Mr. Nott, this is your new roommate Mr. Potter."

The boy looked up from his reading, glanced unimpressed at Harry before nodding at his Professor.

"Very well, sir." he said. Snape seemed satisfied with that.

"Good afternoon." and with that he turned and left. Harry stared after him a little dumbly before snapping back to himself and looking around.

The room was small, but large enough for two. It was definitely the largest room Harry had ever slept in. The bed had a pillow and well-kept looking sheets and a thick duvet.

There was a cupboard to store his clothes and a bare desk under the window on his side of the room.

"Theodore Nott. Friends call me Theo." the boy spoke. It took a moment for Harry to realise he was actually talking to him.

"H-harry. Harry Potter."

"A pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter." Theodore said, then went back to reading. Harry felt extremely out of place, and stupid. When he said friends called him Theo, did he mean that as general information, or was it an invitation to be friends?

Harry hesitated, not really knowing what to do with himself. He was afraid of touching the perfectly made bed and ruining it. He didn't have all that much to unpack and he didn't have any personal books with him that weren't textbooks. He had had high hopes on the library.

At last, he took a step towards the wooden cupboard. He slowly opened it and set his bag carefully in it, just as it was. He could feel Theo's eyes fixed on his back, watching, like a snake about to strike. He was not going to unpack his pair of spare clothes in front of him.

Surely, the boy had friends to spend time with? Would he have the room to himself at one point?

Turning around, he looked at the big bed, done in colours of green and silver, and noticed that there was a tie at the foot of the bed, of the same colours, blended in with the cover.

He'd have to remember to put it on tomorrow for his lessons.

Going to the wooden desk, he saw the class schedule and a map of the place. The map had seven faces, showing each floor of the castle.

Finally with a sense of purpose, Harry sat down at the desk to study it.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2.**

Harry's usual biorhythm woke him up at five the next day. He blinked away the sleepiness from his eyes and stared into nothing for a few seconds, only because he could.

He had learned the route to the library from every class he took. Today he'd go there during breakfast, and see what it was like.

He got up quietly, tiptoeing around the bed and into the shared bathroom across the hall. All the boys from that corridor – Harry had seen it on the map, and had estimated a number of five other boys – shared the same loo.

He showered quickly and as efficiently as he could, careful to avoid the huge mirror over the sinks, dressed in his new uniform – courtesy of Dumbledore – and tried to put on his tie so that he wouldn't look too incompetent.

It didn't work.

Still, he kept at it for a good half hour until it looked only misshapen, and not utterly pathetic.

"Potter." Theo came into the bathroom. Harry tried to take his time brushing his hair – useless endeavour – so it didn't look like he had fled the bathroom right when the other boy came in.

Theo did not talk as he went about his business, and Harry gladly snuck away the moment the other boy got into the shower.

Finally alone in the room – it turned out his roommate preferred reading to hanging out with friends on a Sunday afternoon, – Harry hurried to take out his two shirts and two pair of trousers and displaying them neatly on the cupboard shelves.

Then he approached the bed and took a while to convince himself to touch it and make it.

He took great care in rearranging the covers just as he had found them, still not quite believing he had slept in it. He hadn't slept well of course, the mattress was too soft and he was not used to having a pillow, but he couldn't very well complain that the bed was too good for him to his Head of House.

He then took out all his schoolbooks – also stuff provided by the Chief of Police – and arranged them on his desk, Chemistry on top.

He kept fussing over his books as Theo came back into the room and then, presumably, to breakfast.

Hogwarts was weird. It had a set curriculum, like elementary school, so you couldn't choose which classes to take. Otherwise, he would never have taken anything that remotely touched science, and by extension, Chemistry and Biology.

Never mind Latin. He had no idea how to go about that one, he had never studied it before.

That trip to the library before lessons started was pretty mandatory about now.

He found the library fine. The librarian, Ms Pince, barely glanced at him when he came in.

Harry took his time observing the shelves and the books and the small tables by the windows where one could read and do homework. He thought it was very peaceful here, more peaceful than his shared room and even more than the library back in Surrey.

Even as he took out a book – _Introducing Latin –_ he kept a close eye on the time. He did _not_ want to be late. Chemistry was taught by professor Snape, and for some reason – not that any professor had ever needed a reason before – he had it in for Harry. The last thing he wanted was to be called to the Headmistress' office or worse, having the school call his Aunt for something he did or didn't do.

It was going to be hard learning the rules here, mostly because somebody had yet to tell them to him, but if it was anything like the Dursleys' household or St Brutus', then he'd have to learn on the go.

He didn't like that at all.

* * *

The chemistry class looked... professional. Despite being on the lowest and gloomiest floor, the inside of the lab was very bright. Every surface of the place was white. The smell of antiseptic made his nose wrinkle.

When he arrived, all places were full but the one in the front row on the right, next to a girl with brown curly hair. Harry did not like the front row, he did not like being in such a vulnerable spot, all the more because it was in Gryffindor territory, and while he had nothing against the other House, having to sit with them would surely attract attention. But there was no alternative.

Harry inched his way beside the girl, placing his books on the desk hesitantly, silently asking if it was all right for him to sit there. The girl looked up from her intense study of her notes and looked at him. She didn't really look at him, her eyes didn't rise above his neck, where his silver and green tie was.

She looked behind him, probably at all the taken sits, before she nodded minutely and made some space on the desks, completely covered in her books and notes.

"You must be the new one," she said, matter-of-factly. Harry looked over at her and analysed her tone in his head. It didn't sound like an insult, but to Harry, that was just alarming. For a Gryffindor girl to recognize him on sight... it meant the whole school had been talking about him. Harry closed his eyes and focused on levelling his breathing. Maybe he was just exaggerating. He was a nobody after all, why would a school full of rich kids be talking about _him?_

"I'm Hermione Granger," she told him.

"Harry. Potter." he whispered back. He was getting better at this introducing thing.

That's when the door of the room slammed shut, and Harry jumped and whipped around to face the threat, instinct taking over. He knocked two books off his desk and upset his chair in the process. Snickers went around.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, for making a spectacle of yourself." Snape walked into the room and went straight for the teacher's desk. People in the room snickered more. Harry bent down to pick the books up, gripping the covers tightly to suppress the trembling.

Snape began his lecture and Harry hastily found papers to take notes on.

"What do we get if we combine oxygen and silicon... Mr. Potter?" Snape asked at one point. Harry's head snapped up and he stared at the man. He knew the answer of course, it was a first year question but... why had he called on him? His hand hadn't been up and waving like Hermione Granger's beside him.

With so many pair of eyes on him, he couldn't think straight. Just as he decided he might as well give the answer, his tongue became as heavy as lead, and he couldn't remember what the answer was. He couldn't even remember the question.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Harry swallowed, wishing he could gulp down his tongue and have a valid reason for not answering. He looked down, at his slightly trembling hands and knew he had to calm down. Right now that was the most important thing. He was _not_ going to have an attack during class.

"It seems like Mr. Potter doesn't know what type of reaction comes from oxygen mixed with a non-metal... Mr. Malfoy?"

A voice answered correctly. The lesson went on and Snape called on him two other times. Both times Harry murmured he didn't know, because it was true, those were obviously more advanced questions and it turned out he was extremely behind in Chemistry.

Once the professor dismissed the class, Harry was only too happy to get out of there.

Compared to Snape's class, History was dull. Even not compared to the previous period, History was dull. Professor Binns had a very monotonous and droning tone. Once the period finished, Harry wasn't sure what he had talked about the whole class. His head was too fuzzy and still prone to overreactions after what happened in Chem.

Third period was Math. That he had never liked overly much. Trigonometry was written in bold letters on his textbook. Yet another class he would have to spend time catching up in, apparently.

Harry had always been careful to keep his marks low average, so not to over-shadow his cousin but still be able to pass exams and not get a call for home.

He knew he'd have to study just enough to reach that low average, but even so, after a full period of more letters than numbers in Trig, he wasn't feeling too confident on the prospect of doing low at all. Forget low average.

"So this is the renowned Potter spawn, back from the dead at last," Harry looked up and halted when he saw two huge, bulking figures cross-armed, staring narrow-eyed at him. They reminded him so much of Dudley for a second, his heart stopped beating. Then it started pounding so fast it was painful.

"I can't believe that old witch put you in Slytherin. You look more like a Gryffindork than anything." the two beasts flanked a slim, well-built boy, hair so blonde it was white.

All three of them wore green ties and Harry was positive he had seen them in his classes.

When Harry tried to side step them, one of the Dudleys pushed him back. His shoulders hit the wall and pain flared, spreading like wildfire to his head.

"That's rude Potter, walking away while someone is talking to you. You're right though, I haven't introduced myself, have I? My name is Draco Malfoy." Harry wanted to roll his eyes at the posh name and sigh at the dramatic introduction. Of course it was too much to assume that being sixteen, people would stop behaving like ten year old bullies.

"What do you want?" he asked, suppressing the wince of pain when he straightened up.

"Oh, nothing really, I just wanted to chat to get to know you. You _are_ the prodigal son of James Potter after all."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry tried ducking around the Dudley on the left but he was caught and shoved into the wall again. This time he couldn't help the gasp of pain as all air left his lungs at the impact.

"You are a pussy, Scarhead, aren't you? Already on your knees after a couple of friendly shoves. You've never experience a real beating, have you?" the boy taunted. Harry risked a glance at the blonde's shiny shoes and gold cufflinks and rolled his mental eyes.

"Leave me alone," he said, getting up and turning to go in the opposite direction. He wasn't going to lunch after all, he had been headed to the dormitories. The library though, would do just as well.

The only problem was, he had to turn his back on the bullies to go that way.

"Hey! I'm not finished talking to you!" Malfoy shouted, and before Harry had time to look back, a blow to his head had him crumbling to the floor dazed.

His glasses ended up somewhere, but right then, he couldn't worry about it. It would take him hours to find them again, and he had to run away now. With cotton in his brain and eyes half shut, he saw a fist heading his way just in time to duck. He rolled and picked himself up, before getting his bearings again and running.

He ran as fast as he could, until he recognized the big doors of the library, which were the only ones of that size in the castle, thank God. He slipped inside and hid among the shelves, sliding to a sitting position, knees pulled to his chest, breathing heard.

Dudley hadn't played Harry Hunting in a while, after his parents had told him off for making Harry late for his chores. St. Brutus was so tightly controlled Harry had learned to avoid the security blind spots and be more or less fine throughout the last couple of years. Apparently his body still remembered how to move and escape. Good to know.

It took a long while of deep breathing to get his pulse to stop beating frantically.

By then his cold sweat had dried and his legs didn't feel like jelly any more.

"Are you alright?" said a voice above him. He immediately got to his feet and looked away, aware he looked pitiful.

"Potter, was it?" she asked. Harry glanced at her and then away, her halo of curly hair making her recognizable even without his glasses.

"Just Harry," he corrected softly.

"Harry then. Do you... need anything?" she asked. Harry shook his head and fiddled with his tie, looking away from her, at the hazy forms that surrounded him.

"I'm good, thanks."

"Where are your glasses?" _Damn_.

"They-they, ehm, I-I think I lost them in the corridor"

"Do you want me to help you look for them?"

"No!" Harry couldn't see her face very well but she must have flinched at his outburst.

"I mean, no thanks," he tried to amend, "I'd rather... stay here a while before going back" he said. She looked at him funny, cocking her head to one side.

"You're not what I expected you to be." she said, "You're not like the other Slytherins".

"I guess not" Harry replied, already too aware he had never fit in anywhere. The fact that people _expected_ him to was depressing. Only the Dursleys didn't expect anything from him, and they still got disappointed in him sometimes.

"What I mean is, you haven't said anything nasty to me, and you haven't bullied me or anything" she kept on talking.

 _Why would he do that_? _He was nothing._

"That's what Slytherins are like," she continued with a shrug, "most of the other houses are like that as well. You know, towards people who aren't 'big money' but come here because they actually had the brains to get in."

"You're on scholarship?" he asked. She tucked her hair futilely behind her ear before shrugging again.

"I'm not the only one, but I am the minority. I just hope I'll be able to do something for myself, like Professor Snape did."

"Snape?" Harry had to learn as much as he could on the professor, if he wanted to survive Chemistry. And Slytherin, he realized. Snape had threatened to throw him out the first chance he got, after all.

"Yeah. He was a scholarship student for all six years. Then he got a PhD in Chemistry and worked for Scotland Yard as well. He managed to get in all the circles with the 'old' and the 'big money' and some say he even had an affair with Narcissa Malfoy. But those are just hallway rumours." Harry leaned against the bookshelves behind him and imagined the tall, imposing professor working for Scotland Yard.

"So, are you sure you don't need any help looking for those glasses?" she said, her tone had brightened considerably during their talk, it didn't sound tentative and wary now.

"I-I could use a hand." _or better eyes_ , he amended in his head.

* * *

Harry followed Hermione out of the library, walking with her down the corridors and stopping once they arrived around the place where his glasses had been knocked off.

Harry looked around, but knew he had no hope of locating them unless he went on all fours and started patting the floor.

"Oh, there they are!" Hermione exclaimed pointing after only a couple of seconds. She bent down to retrieve them and fiddled with them.

"These are all broken, Harry. You should take better care of your things!" she told him. Harry took the offered glasses and mumbled nonsense.

"Well, lunch is nearly over. Do you want to walk together to Literature?"

English was taught by the Headmistress, though Hermione explained to him in a whisper it was only temporary, that the old Headmaster had retired quite suddenly and McGonagall had found herself occupying two positions at the same time.

Next was Biology with Professor Sprout. Harry had a deep and rooted distaste for plants and anything connected to it. After Chem, it was probably the class he had hated most that day.

He shouldn't have spoken too soon though, because next was Physical Education.

P.E. had always been pure hell for Harry. St. Brutus' had been a military training camp basically, and Harry had fallen ill more times than not after the three hour workout. Even without the torture-drill, P.E. was awful because he was surrounded by naked and semi-naked people and locker rooms always stank of sweat. Even snob schools apparently weren't exempt from that rule.

While he waited in the gym, he heard other kids discussing 'this year's professor'. Unfortunately, he didn't share this class with Hermione, – Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had another period – but she had told him about it beforehand. The girl liked to talk a lot.

Apparently, the P.E. position was 'cursed' or something, because no professor lasted more than a year. This year's wasn't too bad, according to rumours, only extremely clumsy.

Slytherins found that hilarious.

Harry had to admit it had some irony. He watched as a petite, colourful woman stumbled her way into the gym, divided them into teams and then managed to knock herself on the head with the basketball.

Harry hung back, trying to attract as little attention as possible on the court. He had been one too many times on the receiving end of a basketball. While it was better than a frying pan, it still knocked the wind out of him when it hit him in the chest.

"So you've already found yourself a little whore," a mellifluous voice hissed in his ear, "Good Lord, Potter. I had gathered you were desperate, but that street-beggar is just too low, even for you," Harry spun to take a step away from Malfoy. He wanted to say something, defend Hermione – perhaps he would have too – but someone from the other side of the court called his name. He turned his head automatically, and then all he saw was bright darkness.

When he managed to open his eyes again, ignoring the pain of his probably broken nose, he was surrounded by laughing Ravenclaws and snickering Slytherins.

"Yo, Potter, you really need to be more aware of the ball when you're playing. Constant attention to your surroundings and all that. You alright?" Professor Tonks came to crouch beside him and he flinched when she tried to lift his head.

"That doesn't look too good, someone should take you to the infirmary. Zabini, since it was your wonderful pass that caused this, bring him to Madam Pomfrey, won't you?"

Harry got to his feet immediately, forcing himself not to cradle his nose and give himself away.

"No, it's fine ma'am. I'll just... go to the loo and rest a bit. It's fine." he _was_ fine. He was better than going to the infirmary would make him, anyway.

Without looking back he jogged to the locker room and ran water over his face to get rid of the nosebleed.

He was starting to feel lightheaded and that was not good.

He sat on one of the benches and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the lockers. He didn't move, taking deep breaths, until he heard the professor's whistle signalling the end of the lesson. At that point he got up and locked himself in the loo with his change of clothes. He dressed back into his uniform and escaped the place before the other boys had even set foot there.

Harry was tired by then.

Not that bone-weary tired he got at the Dursleys' in the evenings, when he was so exhausted he could barely remember where his room was.

This was another kind of weariness, soul-deep, that caught him usually after a particularly unjust punishment – because sometimes he really _hadn't_ done anything wrong – or when he realised he was a sixteen year old with absolutely no future. He had no purpose, no direction... his life didn't have any meaning.

It wasn't because of the bullying, he was used to that. Here it was actually mild, whether it was because it was his first day, or because Dudley wasn't there to foment it, or because the student body wasn't made up of 'at risk' (read delinquent) kids… he didn't really care to examine too closely. Either way, the bullying didn't bother him overly much.

It was the crushed hope. It was his own fault for hoping, of course, hoping that this school would be different, that it would treat a worthless creature like him differently from what was normal. But he had been foolish to think he could at least be invisible here, with no one knowing who he was, without his cousin spreading nasty things about him...

But it was not different. It was exactly the same. He should accept it and go on surviving, like he had always done. Even his tentative friendship with Hermione wouldn't last, not if she came to know the truth about him, anyway. Not that he had any intention on telling her.

Harry wished his Uncle hadn't beaten the sense of duty so strongly into him that he couldn't even bring himself to skip his last class.

It was his first day though, and the last class. He could handle Latin. After Chemistry and P.E., how bad could it be?

* * *

Harry found he really should stop asking himself stupid questions like that.

During the class he didn't understand a thing, and the whispers going on around him – which he was _sure_ were about him – only distracted him further. Hermione didn't have this class either, they shared with Ravenclaw again.

Professor Flitwick was nice enough. He didn't call on him, he didn't even glance at him during the whole class. That was pure bliss.

It was only at the end, after the final bell had gone, that he gestured for Harry to go to him. He repeated the gesture towards Malfoy.

"Now, I understand from what the Headmistress tells me, that you have never taken Latin before." he started. He was a short man, bald and with small round glasses.

Harry didn't nod, but he took his silence as assent.

"As this is a special case, I've decided the best way for you to catch up is to have a tutor. Mr Malfoy here is top of this class, and you're in the same house. He will help you with your assignments and pass you the notes from previous years, so that you can get on track as soon as possible. I will be lenient with you until Christmas. By then, I expect you to be up-to-par. Does that sound acceptable to both of you?" he asked. Harry nodded minutely. Malfoy did the same, but as soon as the professor's back was turned, he was murdering him with his eyes.

"Try wasting my time, Potter, and you will be running in tears to your dead mummy before you can say 'sorry'." he hissed at him as he gathered his books and walked hard into Harry's shoulder, making him tumble into the desks.

This was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

He met up with Hermione at the library to start working on homework.

It was quiet there, and when she was studying, she didn't talk too much. It was very nice.

Until she reminded him that dinner attendance was mandatory, when she asked him to walk with her to the Great Hall. He had completely forgotten about supper.

He accepted her offer, seen as he had yet to discover where the Great Hall was. She didn't notice his hesitation though, which was good.

Images of food took shape in his mind as they made their way there, and he felt like retching. He knew he'd have to drink a few glasses of water, at the very least, and maybe try some bread, but the prospect of having to sit through all of dinner was daunting.

He and Hermione had to part ways once they arrived, because apparently, dinner tables were divided by house. How mature.

People were staring at him, _the whole Great Hall_ , and then there was the professors' table, set up on a platform overlooking the room, and as soon as he looked up, black, soulless eyes met his, and he recoiled immediately.

There was only one empty seat at the Slytherin table, between Nott and a boyish looking girl. The empty seat was unfortunately across from Malfoy and his ever-present goons, the Dudleys, and the bloke who had knocked him out with the basketball, Zabini.

Harry took his seat with his eyes fixed on the ground, never once lifting them. He didn't want to be there.

"Well well, look who decided to show up at meals" the drawl was unmistakably Malfoish.

 _Look who shows an amazing interest in what I do,_ Harry retorted in his head, but didn't say aloud.

"Don't start again, Draco, not at supper," Theo said in his slow, bored tone.

"I just welcomed him to the table, Theo, relax," was the answer, but Harry saw the sneer on the blond boy's face from under his lashes. It didn't prospect pleasantries.

"Besides, Potter and I will see a lot of each other, apparently. Flitwick asked me to tutor him. Aren't I lucky? He doesn't even know the first declination! Who do you think raised him? Swine?" snickers broke out among the Slytherins close enough to hear their conversation.

Harry was inclined to smile himself at the mental image of his Uncle and cousin. _Swine indeed._

The conversation, which wasn't really a conversation to begin with, became a pretty passionate monologue on how incompetent and a burden Harry was going to be for Draco Malfoy.

Listening to him complain about it as if he weren't there wasn't too bad. In fact, it distracted him from the stomach-turning smell coming from the food on the table, and there was nothing in his indirect insults he hadn't heard before.

Harry had to physically remind himself to drink, and when faced with the breadbasket had to swallow his grimace and pick up a small piece from it.

It tasted like sand, or paper, he was never quite sure.

He helped himself to a spoonful of peas too, because he knew green stuff was supposed to be healthy or something.

As he played with the tiny green spheres, he listened to Malfoy's drawl still conducting a monologue on him and his incompetence, and then, when he saw more than a few people getting up and heading to the dormitories, he followed.

* * *

He still didn't like the idea of such a big and wasted bed-space for him, but settled on it only so he could draw the curtains and pretend to be alone.

Finally.

He would have to look up in the library – now that he had one as furnished as this one – what the opposite of claustrophobic was. He _liked_ dark, closed spaces. If they weren't too small, they felt safe to him. They brought to mind pain, but also peace. He was always left alone in his cupboard, or in his bedroom. That was nice. He had missed the tranquillity after this first, chaotic day. He missed his Aunt's straight, stupid-simple rules he knew how to follow. He couldn't say he missed his Uncle or cousin, but he knew he would soon enough. Without them there to release some of the frustration, he'd have to go back to cutting. That was messier than Vernon's belt.

He had chosen this. Well, not really, but he _had_ given his consent to Hogwarts. Now he was going to have to deal with it.

"Potter?" Harry jumped at the unexpected voice. He was sure the door hadn't made any noise opening.

Harry popped out his head from the closed curtains and waited for Theo to tell him what he wanted.

"Malfoy is in the common room. He's waiting for you" was all he said before he climbed into bed and got out his book.

Harry wondered why the hell Malfoy was 'waiting for him'. He climbed out of bed slowly, suspecting a prank of some kind but not wanting to _really_ offend Malfoy if it wasn't. He looked like someone who could hold a grudge for being kept waiting.

Harry did not like the common room.

He had established that that morning. It was noisy – yet nothing could be worse than the Great Hall – and crowded. Full of girls, with their high-pitched voices, and gruff laughter from the boys, and the squeaks from the younger years of both sexes.

"You took your time! Hurry up, Potter, I'm not waiting for you all night." Malfoy gestured for him to sit at the long table he was occupying, at one end of the room.

"What is it?" Harry asked, not sitting down. He was waiting for the sneer and the taunt.

The sneer came, but the taunt wasn't hurtful.

"Your tutoring sessions, is 'what it is'. You honestly have the memory-span of a chicken. You'll never learn the five declinations and the four conjugations at this rate." he rolled his eyes and motioned for the free chair again.

Harry sat, silently numb at the realisation he was actually going to _help_ him. Malfoy must have seen the dumb expression on him because his sneer became even colder as he explained.

"Do not flatter yourself, Potter. This is just Slytherin's first rule, _'we look after our own'_ " he sounded as if he was quoting someone else, could it be Snape? "and then you should probably know the second and third as well, _'know your enemy'_ and _'don't get caught'."_

He managed to be extremely posh in the way he took out a schedule and presented it with a flourish to Harry.

"I took the liberty of deciding when we will meet, which will be twice a week, two hours every time. It is the most I can hope of putting up with your presence, and I have most of my time occupied by better things, like soccer, I am the captain, did you know?" he sneered down his nose at him.

Harry looked over the piece of paper. Mondays after supper, Wednesdays after lunch. Harry reckoned it really didn't make much difference to him, he didn't have anything to do outside schoolwork.

"Alright." he said.

"We'll meet here. I will not be seen in the library with you."

"Alright" he said again. He waited politely if Draco had more to say and when he did not, turned around and went back to his too lush bed.

* * *

 **N/A** : I'm not mother tongue, so I'm looking for a Beta to help me with syntax mistakes I might miss and to help me with plot and characters... if you feel up to it (or know someone who is) PM me!


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNINGS (see summary)** for this chapter, but not graphic.

 **CHAPTER 3.**

Wednesday was his first tutoring session with Malfoy. Harry was anxious. He hadn't been bothered at all by Malfoy that day, nor the day before that.

He played with the hem of his dress shirt, but there were no loose fringes to pull or wrap around his finger because it was so new.

It was after lunch, and there was almost no one in the common room.

"Don't just stand there, Potter, get a move on." the drawl was almost soothing. He was still Malfoy. That was good.

Harry came to sit beside him, and eyed the pile of books with incomprehensible titles.

"We will start with the first declination. _Rosa-rosae-rosae-rosam-rosa-rosa._ It's what little children of eleven learn in a week. Let's see if you're old enough to learn it in one night. It's elementary, truly."

It went like that for two hours. Malfoy teaching him and putting in little snippets of insults which didn't bother Harry at all. It turned out that Malfoy hadn't bothered him much because he had been busy preparing for Saturday's match. The first of the season.

He found he didn't mind Latin. What he minded was not knowing. Having to _depend_ on someone. It was a horrible and unsettling feeling. And he didn't like the proximity having to study together forced him in. With Malfoy.

He had never sat so close to somebody else. Never. He could sense any slight movement the other made with his torso, and if he was really quiet while they both were reading a passage, he could hear him breathing. And he could smell the scent of cologne on him.

It was all very uncomfortable.

Harry and Hermione were in the library, sitting at the table closest to the window to use as much natural light as possible when the cheering started.

It was so loud it made Harry jump.

"Bloody soccer tournament" the girl mumbled under her breath. Harry looked at her questioningly.

"The tournament starts today. It's Slytherin against Hufflepuff first round. It's going to be _mad_ tonight around town, and tomorrow is going to be worse. Everybody uses soccer matches as excuse to get drunk. Wankers."

"Town?" Harry asked. Honestly, he did not like the idea of drunk people around anywhere. He strongly hoped Theo was as serious and smart as he looked. He was not going to handle well having a drunk roommate.

"Oh, yeah, you don't know. Hogsmeade is the only town close enough to the school that students can walk there. We can go there on the weekends. Most of us meet our parents there for an afternoon together."

"Oh." Harry seriously doubted he'd be allowed to go. He _would_ like to get some fresh air though.

"What is Snape doing here?" Hermione whispered to him. Harry immediately sat up and looked around, his heart quickening.

"I know he has a personal library in his rooms, why as he come _here?_ " Hermione wondered. Harry tried to think back to Sunday, when the Headmistress had escorted him to Snape's study. He wasn't sure if there had been books or not. He had been so nervous about the distaste in the professor's eyes he had been incapable of noticing anything else. Had it only been a week ago?

They watched out of the corner of their eye as Snape prowled along the _Historic Genealogies_ isle, his face an impassive mask.

Snape had only two expressions, which troubled Harry because it was very difficult to know how to behave with a limited range of displayed emotions: deprecating sneer or absolute absence of expression.

Snape found what he was looking for, and extracted two thin books from the shelves.

He turned, and while Harry was quick in looking away, Hermione got caught and stammered out a "good morning".

Harry felt the professor coming closer, a dark, looming figure that leaned in to see what they were working on.

It was literature.

"How odd it is to see the prodigal son of soccer captain James Potter not participating at the tournament." he said in quiet, cultured tones. Harry curled his hand under the table into a fist, letting his nails bite into the skin. He did not lift his head. That would only increase the venom, he knew. "Are you so abysmally incompetent in English too, Potter, that you need tutoring from Miss Granger so early in the year and on a Saturday to boot?"

"Actually, professor, we were just studying together, comparing notes. Gryffindor and Slytherin share fourth period, you see." Hermione stepped in, probably with a smile.

"How very Gryffindor of you, Miss Granger, to lie for a friend. However, I was not talking to you. I will have to have a private talk with you, Mr Potter, about how you are… _settling_ _in_. Come Wednesday, after supper."

Harry released the shiver he had repressed as soon as Snape turned his back on them. Hermione reached out across the table to grip his hand in what she must have though a sympathetic gesture. It only had the affect of making more cold sweat cover his trembling body.

"Back to Hogsmeade," Hermione chirped, oblivious to Harry's flash of terror, "Do you want to... perhaps go together? After lunch I mean. I'm meeting my parents tomorrow, but I have to pick up some stuff from the shop today. Do you want to come with me? I could show you around," she asked. Harry bit the inside of his cheek, hating her wordiness and the hopeful lilt in her tone. He was also afraid that if she noticed he turned her down too many times, she'd get fed up with him and stop keeping him company. He was fine alone, he liked solitude and everything but... he had never had another person to keep him company during studying or between classes. It was extremely addictive, and Harry was afraid of that too.

But he was afraid of Voldemort more. He remembered quite clearly the – only – stern talk Sirius Black had given him regarding the school, which summed up to 'stay in it and don't leave under any circumstance'.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'd really like to but I've got a ton of catch up work to do, and Snape is already on my back." it was probably the longest sentence he had spoken to her. He lifted his eyes to smile at her, and she replied effortlessly.

"That's okay, we can go another time." _right._

Harry was alone. Truly alone. Only a few first years and a couple second years were left in the school during the weekend.

Hermione had left after lunch, which he had been forced to sit through too, and now he was alone, in his bed, Latin and Trigonometry books in front of him. He couldn't stop thinking about Snape's threatening words. He would have to meet the man, alone, in a few days.

The quiet rang in his ears, pressed down on his body, it made his heart race as if he had run a marathon, it tried to keep up with the quiet but it couldn't.

Everything was still.

He knew he'd come to miss his Uncle's elephant steps and his cousin's deafening music reverberating through the walls.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried calming down, tried focusing on the first conjugation and not the huge and dark demeanour of his professor, looming over him, spitting venom in his cultured tones... He gave up, got to his feet, took his razor and went to the bathroom, which was empty, and would remain so for the rest of the weekend.

He went under the shower, but didn't turn it on.

The pain kicked out the numbness immediately. It hurt like bitch, and he only drew two thin lines, but he felt better. More centred, more in control. He could focus, and his senses were sharper. He cut two others, slowly, concentrating.

He let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes, feeling the ache and the throb and feeling relieved he could still _feel._ No matter how much of a freak he was, some things, like pain, he felt just like all the others.

He turned on the water, – cold, always cold – and washed the blood away, cleaned the razor. He remained under the spray until his arms had gone numb from the cold. His mind was alert.

He used paper towels to stop the bleeding and went back to his room.

He started studying Latin from the top again. Then Trig.

He slept almost seven hours that night, no nightmares of psychotic killers bothering his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4.**

Monday all he could think about during Chem was Wednesday afternoon. All through History and Literature and P.E. his brain felt full of cotton and couldn't seem to fit in anything else.

"Malfoy..." Harry had waited for all the other boys to leave the locker room. He had known Malfoy would be the last one to finish, he was just too obsessed with his hair and his clothes. If everything wasn't perfectly straight and accurately effortless-looking, he did not leave P.E. He was always almost-late to Latin, but he could afford it, being one of Flitwick's favourites. Even the two Dudleys had given up waiting for him.

"What is it, Potter? You need some of my hair gel to deal with that monstrosity you call hair?" Malfoy's jabs had weakened after the weekend. Now it was only posh glances and sneers, with the occasional sarcastic comment. It was probably the effect of the victory in soccer. He had been gloating about it to anyone who would listen, which wasn't few people, considering his family name.

"I... don't know if I can make it Wednesday, for Latin." he said. He was telling him this early, to get at least one nightmare out of the way. He had positioned himself in front of the door. If a strategic retreat was needed, he was prepared.

"And why ever not? You got somewhere better to be?" his eyes flashed and his tone sounded very put out.

 _Actually_. _.._ "Snape said he wants to talk to me."

Malfoy grunted at that.

"But you'll be there tonight, right?" he asked, with his back turned, looking in the mirror and finishing combing his hair back, before applying the gel. The bloke used _conditioner._ And his hair smelled flowery.

Not that Harry had purposefully taken a sniff, but he had noticed it the last time he had entered the bathroom, and Malfoy was blow-drying his hair. Blow-drying.

Maybe it was just Harry being a freak, but he had never _once_ used a blow-dryer. Harry muttered an assent, and since Malfoy didn't add anything else, he left, heading for Latin.

* * *

"No, Potter, _duces_ comes from _dux._ You have to look at the _consonant_ of the _root_ , I told you this already!" Malfoy massaged his temples with his index fingers and gave a fed up sigh. They were sitting in the common room again, too close to each other, and Harry was feeling uneasy. Didn't really feel like putting any weight on his feet. Or moving too much at all.

His head was pounding – probably from stress – his sight was fuzzier than usual and of course Snape had notice his inattention and call on him in class and Hermione had had to stop him from mixing two highly inflammable reagents soon after that, but he was hoping it would all pass. He had even eaten a full boiled potato that evening, with a little carrot and water and everything.

" _Terra Pottri vocat_ " Malfoy kicked him in the shin with the heel of his shoe and it jerked him out of his funk. That was going to bruise.

"Sorry" Harry muttered, knowing his apologies didn't really mean anything.

"What the hell is wrong with you? We have been going over the third for half an hour."

"I'm sorry," he said again, wondering if he would perhaps pay better attention with his eyes closed. He was afraid he was coming down with something. He knew the symptoms. He had ridiculous fragile health, he'd get a fever every month or so. Saturday's impulsive action had probably made it worse.

"Whatever. I'm not going to work with a zombie. Go wank or whatever and clear your head. You can study the third, fourth and fifth declination on your own for Monday." Malfoy gathered his books and left.

Harry did not want to go to bed. He did not want to see how much worse he could feel tomorrow.

He wasn't sure how he got to his room and under the covers, but the next morning it was Theo's alarm that woke him up from his sleep.

He felt his head throbbing badly and his throat being drier than sand. Even with his glasses he saw worse than usual. He wanted to groan and bang his head into a wall until it knocked him out.

He got up, went to the loo and showered fast, before Theo could enter the bathroom too. He barely glanced at the sore marks on his arms. He dressed in there as well, brushed his teeth with his eyes closed to avoid his reflection and prepared his books for the day. He knew he needed to go to breakfast – again – so he could drink water. From the way his hands shook, he better push some food down as well.

The noise in the Great Hall almost made him cry, but he sucked it up, drank and ate as much and as fast as he could, then walked to Chemistry.

"Are your eyes troubling you?" Hermione asked as she set down her pack.

"I'm fine"

"You keep squinting. More than usual."

"A little headache."

"Do you want me to walk you to the infirmary?"

"No!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class, Miss Granger." but the glare sent his way told Harry that if he hadn't been in Slytherin, the point loss would have been for him. That was how class began that morning, and it only got worse.

His shaking increased until he couldn't hide it from Hermione anymore. She was looking at him with a very worried expression by then, and Harry truly wanted to tell her to _not_ worry, that it would pass in a couple of days, he was used to it, but he did not dare speak. The last thing he needed was Snape giving him detention for 'disrupting the class'.

There were twenty minutes left, and Harry's eyes had become awfully heavy. Hermione had had to stop him from adding at the wrong moment Chlorine twice already, when Snape advanced on him like a panther. Harry instinctively jerked back when he got too close, but in doing so knocked half the glass vials that were on the table right to the floor. They shattered, their contents mixing. Smoke started rising, and the product of all the unknown reagents started spreading on the floor, likely corroding the leg of the table that was right in the middle of the puddle.

Harry couldn't even master the blind fear he knew he should be feeling. His heart was beating like mad, but his mind was too sluggish to keep up with what was happening.

"Get _away_ from there, you idiotic child." the professor snapped, seizing his upper arm and pulling him towards himself, away from the sizzling puddle, ignoring the flinch his sudden movement had provoked.

"Everybody out, class dismissed. Mr. Malfoy, get Mr. Flinch to help me deal with this mess." Harry heard the order and tried to do as he was told, but the hand on his arm was still gripping him hard.

"You wait a second Mr. Potter. Go on, Miss Granger, you can see your little friend later."

Harry had his gaze still locked on the yellowish liquid, which now had stopped smoking but was still spreading.

"Look at me, Potter." Snape had waited for the rest of the class to leave before he spoke, shaking his arm to get his attention. It hurt. Everything hurt really, but Snape wasn't being gentle about his manhandling.

Harry didn't want to look him in the eye. The few times he dared to it with Uncle Vernon he had received the beating of his life. Vernon hated it more than he hated Harry getting better grades than Dudley, which was saying a lot.

Snape lifted his chin by force, leaving him no choice. His eyes were met by obsidian disks, hard like the rock, absolutely expressionless. His mouth though, from this close, was a little more expressive. It was slightly turned down in a displeased sort of grimace.

Harry was too far gone in the numbness that had settled in his bones at that point to flinch again when Snape lifted one hand and pressed it to his forehead.

"You have a fever," he declared at last, adding under his breath, "You had a little too much colour for your standards".

 _I know!_ He wanted to snap back, but didn't have any energy to spare. He was standing up, and processing what was going on around him, more or less. That was about all he could deal with right now. He didn't want to think about walking.

"I'll take you to the Infirmary." Snape sighed, but at that word Harry rebelled. He couldn't go to the Infirmary. It stank of disinfectant and there were nurses there. Nurses always got him into very serious trouble with their poking noses. They never minded their own business, never just healed what he needed healing and left him bloody alone.

He couldn't go there. She'd send him straight back to the Dursleys.

"I'm _fine._ " he forced out through gritted teeth.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. There is no need to act like a martyr over this." Snape snapped, and started dragging him from the classroom, almost bodily moving him.

 _Stop manhandling me!_ "Stop..." was all he said, his voice was raw and it hurt his throat. How was it already dry? He had drank four glasses of water that morning!

Snape stopped and fixed him with a black stare.

"You are sick, Potter."

"I'm fine. I'll just go lie down in my room. It's nothing." he insisted. Prayed.

"Do as you will. I'll escort you to your room." he said, and started dragging him in the opposite direction. He took really large steps, and Harry had to jog and pant to keep up.

"Get into bed." he ordered once they were in the Slytherin dorms.

Harry took off his outer uniform and tie and hesitantly climbed into the bed with his dress-shirt and trousers. Snape strode into the room and pulled the curtains closed, throwing the room in semi-darkness.

"Stay here." he ordered, before he strode out.

* * *

Harry woke to a sharp voice calling him. He opened his eyes and immediately jumped into a sitting position when he saw Snape, in his black, shapeless suit looming over him.

"Put this under your tongue," he ordered, handing him a long instrument. It took him a second to recognize the thermometer. He had never used one, but Aunt Petunia kept it in the bathroom cupboard for when Dudley got sick.

He did as he was told, and eyed the new tray that was sitting on his desk.

Snape waited with his arms crossed and an irritated expression for the thermometer to bip, and when it did, he took it and looked at it. His irritation deepened in the lines on his mouth.

"Take this," he ordered, holding out a tiny white pill and a glass of water.

"What is it?" Harry asked. His headache had faded into a lulling throb, and the cuts on his arms pulsed like they had a heart beat of their own, and he felt hot. He was never hot. And sweaty. He probably looked like crap. More than usual anyway.

"A drug to kill annoying teenagers." Snape saw Harry wasn't laughing and rolled his eyes, "Aspirin, Potter. C9H8O4. What do you usually take when you have a fever?" it sounded like a rhetorical question so he ignored it in favour of gulping down the _aspirin._ He had never gotten one at his house. Medicine was for Dudley only, it cost way too much for him.

He didn't feel any different.

"Eat." Snape ordered again, lifting the tray and settling it on his lap.

"I just had breakfast." Harry complained weakly. The expression on the professor's face, for some reason, was thunderous.

"It is lunch time, and I don't have time to play nurse-maid to you, Potter. If you had wanted to whine and complain to get attention you would have gone to Madam Pomfrey. Now eat, you need to replenish your liquids and calories."

Harry closed his mouth and looked at the tray. A bottle of water and a vegetable soup stared back at him. If they could, they'd be sneering at him.

Snape waited for him to take two spoonfuls of soup and then, with a satisfied nod, he left.

His stomach almost made him throw up everything. It didn't, thank God, and Harry put the tray back on the desk, but kept the water.

He really couldn't eat when he was sick, but he did have to drink if he wanted to get better soon. He placed the bottle on his bedside table and buried himself under the thick covers. They were amazingly warm, and they smelled freshly washed.

Harry wasn't sure why the man had made him go to bed, it was just a small fever after all, but since he hadn't said anything about getting up and going back to classes, Harry did not intend to move from there.

He fell asleep again.

* * *

When he woke, it was because of low voices talking near him. He could not understand the sounds they made, his head was still a little asleep, but he opened his eyes and lifted his head to see who it was.

One looked like Theo, getting ready for bed. The other was a tall, black shape, with the only spot of pale white where the face is supposed to be. Snape?

"Potter. You are awake again. Good. Mr. Nott brought you dinner. You have to measure your temperature again. If it hasn't gone down, you'll have to spend the night with Madam Pomfrey." Snape handed him the thermometer again. Harry decided he would protest that sentence after his mouth was free of the plastic stick.

After the bip, Snape checked the results and _humpft_ ed.

"It looks like it lowered to thirty-seven degrees. Eat something. It is best if you rest tomorrow too." Snape left, leaving the tiny aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table.

Harry took it and drank it down.

"The rolls are on your desk," Theo said from where he was stretched out on his bed, reading.

Harry eyed the food and mentally shook his head.

"Thanks" he told Theo, before putting his head down on the pillow again.

* * *

The next day Harry was still feeling a little off, but definitely healthy enough to go to class.

His internal alarm even managed to wake him up at his usual five o'clock, so he deemed himself cured.

This fever had passed amazingly fast, only twenty-four hours. And he had slept through most of them!

He thought back to the professor's strange behaviour yesterday, the _aspirin_ and everything. That had been very odd, hadn't it?

None of his other teachers at the other schools had ever noticed he was sick. It wasn't like they noticed him much at all, unless they thought he was cheating.

It gave him a strange feeling, thinking of the dark, sour man measuring his temperature and bringing him food. It felt like his centre of gravity had shifted for a millisecond, and his body was still adjusting back. Harry swallowed heavily and trampled on that flimsy, slimy thing insinuating in his head. All that... looking after... was mandatory of professors in boarding schools. Yes, that was it. It was still weird how Snape hadn't just called him a drama queen, given him an aspirin and sent him on his way, but the alternative was nothing to waste time thinking about. There was no point in reading between lines that weren't there.

Still, he felt more rested than he ever had in his life.

Harry's content mood gave rapidly way to a thrill of fear as he readied his books, thinking about the fact that _today was Thursday_ and he had missed yesterday's talk with Snape. And after he had spent four full days agonizing so much over it too!

Was Snape going to be very angry? Furious and regretting putting him to bed yesterday? What was his punishment going to be? Harry's breath started having trouble following the simple path from his mouth to his lungs and back again. The pencils he was putting away fell from his hand and he had to wrap his arms around himself to try and bring a little warmth back in his body. He was shaking again.

 _Just breathe. Calm down. No need to panic._ He would have to apologize to Snape today. After class. He felt light-headed only thinking about it.

The trembling increased until dots started dancing in his vision. He hurried to the bathroom, crashing into his bed and the doorframe on the way. He huddled down next to a sink, pressing his head on the cool surface, stayed there until he had regained control of his breathing.

He made his way back into the room some time later, avoiding the mirrors lurking right in front of the doorway on the way out.

More time than he had though must have passed because Theo was waking up.

"Snape said you should stay in bed for another day." Theo noted as he too, got ready for the day. Only then did Harry wonder if perhaps he had made any noise in his escape to the bathroom. Even if he had though, apparently Theo was a deep sleeper.

"I'm feeling fine today." Harry replied. The other boy shook his shoulders and went on with his business. Harry decided then he really liked Theo. He was probably the best roommate he could have asked for. He imagined having to sleep in the same room as Malfoy, or Zabini, and shuddered. Then pictured either one of the Dudleys – which he had found out were named Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabb – and gave an even more violent shiver. Theo was absolutely the best thing that had happened to him since he had come to Hogwarts. He did not poke around, he didn't talk much, he ignored him and left him all around alone.

* * *

The day was a blur. He went to breakfast because he needed a little food and liquids and Theo had mentioned he still looked like crap.

First period was always Chem. Snape was not happy to see him in class, but apart from telling him he wanted a word after class, he did not call on him during the lesson. The order though brought back the buckets of cold sweat, and he spent the period praying Hermione beside him would stop asking and just assume the bloodshot eyes were a leftover from yesterday's fever.

At last the bell rang and the class filled out. He pulled his lips into a smile for Hermione, telling her he'd catch up later. _If he was able to, after whatever Snape was going to do to him_.

"I-I'm sorry. Sir." Harry got that out of the way. Starting a conversation with an apology was always best.

Snape raised his eyebrow and came to lean against the front of the teacher's desk, arms crossed.

"For spilling that highly corrosive compound all over the floor and ruining the furniture in my class? Do not worry Potter, I had been expecting something like that, and I already have thought of a way for you to make amends." Harry controlled the shiver in his exhale and swallowed on a dry throat. Snape was staring him down with that dissecting-a-bug look, he could _feel_ it without needing to look up.

"I take that if you are in class today you are feeling better?" his tone was flat. Harry nodded with his eyes on the professor's shoes, waiting. Waiting for the shouting and the accusations, maybe even a cuff over the head…

"Very well. Yesterday's meeting has been postponed to Friday night. That is to say, tomorrow. Seven thirty, do not keep me waiting." Snape stopped talking and Harry felt his stomach drop. Any time now… he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Go now, I'm not going to excuse your tardiness to your next professor." He said. Harry was detached from his body as he nodded once again and exited the room. He was floating high above his body. Confused. He shook his head to clear it and ground himself. Perhaps he was going to wait until Friday night. Yes, that made a lot of sense. Punish him at the end of the week, when he had a full two days to think over his mistake and recover.

He refused to go to lunch, his stomach was still in knots from that morning, but he went willingly enough to dinner. It seemed his digestive system had gotten used to the regular food in the evening, and it accepted it a little better.

Tomorrow though he was _not_ going to eat. The last thing he needed was feeling like throwing up while he was alone with Snape. The feeling was there already without actual food in his stomach.

* * *

Friday night came all too soon. Harry already disliked Fridays immensely for various reasons – namely, in the past they had meant two full days locked in the house doing chores with no food while the Dursleys went out camping or whatever – but that Friday was on a whole other level of 'dislike'.

He spent all Friday afternoon alone in the library. He didn't want to go back to his room because he feared the restlessness that had possessed him last time he was left alone in his room for too long. He remained in the library, worked on homework due next week.

As he walked through the common room that night to go to supper, he noticed a newspaper sitting on a sofa. Out of curiosity, wondering who from the lower years had left it there, Harry picked it up.

His breath stuttered to a stop, his whole body freezing up.

 _VOLDEMORT BACK FROM THE DEAD,_ the headline said. Harry did not wish to read the article. He skimmed over it, to see the location, childishly covering with his hand the big, snake-like face looking out of the paper. _London._ He was back in London.

Harry focused on breathing, slowly, deeply. In control. No panic attacks.

Harry opened his hand and let the newspaper _thund_ to the ground. He turned and walked to the great Hall, like an automaton, settled at his usual empty seat between Theo and Millicent Blustrode and stared blindly at his plate. In control. He was safe. He had come here _exactly_ because there had been rumours about _his_ return. He was going to be fine. There was no need to get hysterical like a little girl.

He could barely keep down water, his intestines had turned to gurgling acid and he was about ready to cut a damn river in his arm.

He left a little early, with a quick glance towards the High Table, to go get ready. Snape was there and had been looking straight at him the whole time. It was part of the reason he hadn't been able to eat anything too. Now he was going to have to go to breakfast. That sucked. The smell of eggs and bacon was absolutely the worst, and it brought back the smell of one too many burnt sausages, and swinging frying pans.

He made his way to the dungeons. Cold dead eyes flashed through his mind and he ducked into the first loo he came across. He needed to snap out of this funk, he was going to have to deal with _Snape._ For the first time he turned the water hot. He splashed the boiling water to his face, hoping the pain might get the blood flowing better than cold water did.

It helped a little.

He usually avoided mirrors like the plague, but in that moment he was feeling rebellious. Once the numbness dissipated, clear logical thinking was left behind. The danger, the _true_ danger that monster presented to him made everything else seem childish in comparison.

What were a few insults and beatings when confronted with what that monster could do? What he _had done_?

He stared hard at his face. Hollow cheeks, dark stains under his flat eyes, hair as hopeless as ever. Lifting his shirt, he turned to look at his back in the mirror. The most recent belt marks were brown lines of crusted blood across his back, they looked pretty hideous. They didn't follow a pattern, and with all the other older, white lines, it made his back look like poorly treated meat. The sight sobered him, put everything into prospective.

No matter what Snape was going to do to him tonight, nothing was worse than that. And not even _that_ was worse than what the Monster would do to him if he caught him.

At seven fifteen – a good quarter of an hour early – he knocked at Snape's study.

"Come in" called a deep, tenor voice, and Harry did, repressing the shivers that went through his arms and made his teeth chatter. He needed to relax, tense muscles only made the pain worse.

"Sit." Harry did, whipping his sweaty palms on his trousers. He waited. And waited, very still, barely breathing. Finally the scratching pen stopped, and Snape's chair groaned as his weight shifted backwards.

"Professor Flitwick tells me Draco Malfoy is tutoring you in Latin, to remedy that... gap in your curriculum," he went on, "I, however, do not believe a student could really remedy your deficiency in Chemistry after that spectacle on Tuesday, nor do I trust someone else to not erode what little you do know of the subject. You will, therefore, take remedial classes with me. Thursday night. Is everything clear?" he asked.

"Yes, sir" Harry said, because there really wasn't anything _else_ he could say.

"Today you will have your first extra class, even though it is Friday" he said, his cadence like a melodious computer. Harry nodded with a dry throat. He had pushed the confusion in a remote corner and was struggling to follow.

"Have you done that assignment I gave you on Tuesday?" he asked. Harry felt the blood leave his face. He _had_ done it, but hadn't really had time to go over it like he had planned, what with Latin on Wednesday and that fever yesterday... besides, it was in his room...

"I had expected not. You may begin it now. Use the extra books on the shelves by the door." He made him do the assignment three times.

Harry worked without protest. At one point he caught himself thinking that he was going to try do really well on his next Chem exam to impress Snape… That thought earned him an ingrained mental slap to pull himself out of that dangerous zone.

It would be incredibly stupid of him to delude himself that Snape's remedial class was his way of giving Harry special attention. Just like the other day with the aspirin. There was no way Harry was going to fall for that one again. Receiving attention was an addictive black hole that sucked you in and spat you out with all your body and mind in tatters, with nothing to show for it. He was _not_ going to make the same mistake he had made when he was younger and a needy attention seeker.

Snape did not give a rat's arse about him. _He_ wasn't worth a rat's arse. He was nothing. Simple truth.

 _Focus and keep reading._

The professor stilled his scratching pen at almost half past ten, looking down at him and telling him to go.

Harry didn't mind. In fact, he was almost inclined to say Hermione was right. Chemistry _was_ brilliant once you saw it from a certain point of view. A very particular and coercive point of view that is.

"Potter," Snape called right before Harry could step out, "I know you are hiding something. I'll be watching you," he said in an extremely ominous voice, and Harry nodded. Cold eyes and a mad jeer darted through his mind. He swallowed and had to restrain himself from fleeing down the corridor.

Harry felt sick again at the prospect of entering the common room. That was where that newspaper with _his_ picture still was. He was being childish and ridiculous, he knew that, but he just couldn't face it right now. Not with Snape's words still clawing their way into his memories.

Even if he knew full well it was going to be curfew soon, he took a walk up to the Astronomy tower anyway. That impulsive, rebellious force rushing in his veins was urging him forward, until it made him stop in front of the boy's loo on the sixth floor. Sobbing.

Not exactly crying, more like sniffling and repressed whimpers.

Harry usually minded his own business. It wasn't like he could offer comfort to whoever it was. Besides, boys hated other boys seeing them in vulnerable moments like that, he should know.

Then he heard a crash, like glass breaking, and that same _stupid_ rebellious adrenaline – for lack of a better word – in him felt obliged to check everything was okay.

He had not been prepared for what he saw.

Malfoy was gripping the sink with knuckles so white they almost blended in with the sink itself. He was only in his dress shirt, his tie and hair dishevelled.

It was so _wrong_ to see always-perfectly groomed Malfoy so out of sorts.

Their eyes met in the shattered mirror above the sink.

If he hadn't looked so broken, Harry would have ran. Grey eyes were looking at him ready to murder.

"Get the fuck out, Potter!" Malfoy bellowed, turning towards him and taking a threatening step forward.

Harry did not back down. In his mind, he knew he was being masochistic, and only because Voldemort wanted to kill him, it didn't mean Harry had to make the job easier for him by getting beaten up by Malfoy.

Still he stayed, because there was something extremely fragile about Malfoy with red eyes and a trembling lip.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing is fucking wrong for you, Potter! Now leave! And if you tell a fucking soul..." Malfoy apparently _didn't_ want him to leave, because he had strode forward and grasped him by the collar. He looked even more upset now that he was close and Harry could see him well.

"I'm not going-"

"Oh of course you're not. You are honourable _perfect_ Potter, aren't you?" he spat. Harry felt one of his hands snake around his throat and the flashback almost blinded him.

 _Breathe. This is Malfoy. Just Breathe._

"I don't-" but the hand around his neck made the tiniest of pressures, and Harry started clawing at the oppressive hands.

 _I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, please..._

"Don't lie, you can _stop_ with that ignorant, kicked-puppy act you put up so everyone will underestimate you! I've seen how you work in Latin! In barely two weeks you're already halfway through the third year curriculum! In a month you'll be top of our class! You'll even best _me_!"

Harry wasn't really listening, he managed to sink his nails in Malfoy's wrist and he released him. With his foggy sight, all he could see was his Uncle's huge form crushing his throat.

"Please..." Harry had never had pride. Pride was for people who were someone. People who had things to be proud of. Harry was a worthless nothing, and so he was not above pleading on his knees, if he had to. This was all a little too close to home, and he was terrified he'd slip into a panic attack. Reality kept intertwining with memory, confusing the hell out of him. Of course, his terror didn't help any in this situation.

"But you have no _idea_ what hard work is like! Do you have any idea who my father is? What he _does?_ Of course not. You are a poor little orphan. You don't even know what a father _is!_ " Harry lifted his arms to protect his face when he saw the punch coming.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, and only after he shook his head from the sprawled position on the floor, did he determine where the pain was coming from.

Harry rubbed a hand at the corner of his mouth and it came away stained with blood. Broken lip.

"Is that why you're crying? Because you have a father?" Harry said as steadily as he could, getting up facing a panting Malfoy.

"I'm going to erase that martyred-saint look from your-" he lunched forward without even finishing the sentence. They fell back, Harry probably hit his head because he lost a second. In the next one Malfoy got him again, in the nose this time.

Harry bucked, on instinct, managing somehow – probably because the blond hadn't expected it – to revert their positions, with Harry on the top. He tried to grab the flailing arms and stop him from moving at all, when a big, strong hand caught his arm and lifted him. The hand was crushing his forearm, pressing into the still-healing cuts and cutting off his circulation. The pain had tears burning at the corner of his eye.

Another hand must have caught Malfoy because he was standing up too, but not attacking him.

"What, pray tell, were the two of you doing?" a tenor, so soft it was almost melodic, asked.

Harry's blood rushed all downwards to his legs, and he felt faint.

"Potter attacked me, sir!" was the quick answer, which came distorted to Harry's buzzing ears. He needed to calm down. _Breathe._

This was all too close together, too much the same...

 _Not a panic attack._ Two in one day was a little too much.

"Potter?" Snape asked, always with that soft, inquisitive tone.

Harry looked up to try to communicate. His voice had rushed down together with the blood and his rationality, the revived pain throbbing from his arms not helping. He blinked and wondered why everything looked a little off.

He reached for his glasses with his free hand and adjusted them. He breathed a silent thanks to God that they somehow hadn't been broken.

" _Potter_?" Snape sounded more impatient now.

"I-I don't..." _I don't know what happened._ It wasn't really a lie. Uncle Vernon _always_ took out his frustrations on Harry, but Harry _knew_ the whole process that lead to the final beating. He had lost a passage in Malfoy's rant, so he partly _wasn't_ sure what had happened that made the shouting escalate so much. Wasn't Malfoy ranting about him and his father or something?

"Clean up. The both of you. I will decide what to do with you in my study." Snape finally let them go and walked out, his leather shoes making dark, dangerous _tap-tap_ with his every step.

* * *

 **A/N 1):** my take on the bathroom scene from canon! I'm always on the lookout for AUs on this particular scene in fanfiction (I just love it so much) so if you have any good takes to suggest, write them in the reviews!

 **A/N 2)** : minor warning. We have here a first reference to Lucius Malfoy. I'm going to warn ya all that this particular thread is going to come up only indirectly, and I'm basically going to leave it hanging by the end. This story is centred around Harry, and I hope it's clear he has enough crap to deal with without adding whatever mess Lucius has gotten himself into (besides, thanks to canon, you guys can well imagine more or less what Malfoy senior has gotten into, and we don't really care how he ends up, as long as it doesn't affect Draco directly).

 **A/N 3)** : I took some liberty with the Chemistry accident. I'm not that sure that school actually allow students (or even teachers) to handle corrosive elements during lesson, but lets go with it anyway for the sake of the story. Plus, we know Snape is special.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5.**

"Fuck" Malfoy summarized the whole thing. Harry was inclined to agree.

"Bloody-" the blond was tormenting his hair, dragging his fingers through it and ruining it even more. He went to a sink, splashed water on his face and exhaled loudly.

"Move it, Potter. You don't keep Snape waiting, he's already livid as it is." Malfoy used a couple of paper towels to dry his face and then walked out.

Harry tried to follow but his legs were locked. Nailed to the ground.

That's when he started shaking so hard he bit his tongue twice. The salty copper scent of blood filled his mouth, threatening a gaging reflex.

He couldn't move. He just couldn't. He sank to his knees, the toes of his feet still stuck in that same spot, and hugged himself, trying to warm up, to use friction to fight the ice spreading though him.

 _Breathe, breathe, breathe._

It was a mantra, the only thought his mind was able to produce at this point.

He could _feel_ the panic attack coming on, and he couldn't stop it. No amount of force of will had ever helped.

There was _no way_ he was going to go to detention. He was never ever going to walk into a room with Snape. Alone. He'd kill him. Harry might be a freak and a worthless waste of space, and occasionally masochistic, but he was _not_ suicidal.

He had seen the murderous expression in Snape's soulless eyes. He hadn't look at him like that since that first Chemistry lesson, that look that said he was his personal living demon.

The only thing to focus on now was not slip into a panic attack in the sixth-floor bathroom.

He set his hands on the damp ground and pushed, the momentum bringing him up standing on his feet. He locked his jaw and moved his legs very slowly, aiming for the opposite direction to the dungeons. The Astronomy Tower. Yes, that was high enough he'd be safe, Snape wasn't likely to find him.

He moved his legs faster and faster, until he was running, out of breath, to the top of the tower.

He leaned his back on the wall and slid down until he was sitting, hugging his knees and letting the trembling take over. His lungs screamed for oxygen his nose simply couldn't find in the air, and he put his forehead on his knees, and waited for it to pass.

These were the best conditions for when he had panic attacks. To be in the open, or near an open window, alone, sitting down and with no one who might walk in on him, alerted by his desperate gasps and whimpers.

He would have to learn all the routes to the Astronomy Tower, like with the library. His two perfect sanctuaries.

Panic attacks lasted a bit. He wasn't really sure how long, he had never timed them, but a good while. The aftershocks were the worst part though. His body felt drained, and he could in no way move unless someone bodily carried him. And his mind was dizzy and numb. Detached, like it took five times too long to process what went on around him.

It had happened just before supper. This was actually the second time in one day. A personal record.

Dudley loved this state. He could trash Harry all he wanted and Harry couldn't react, wouldn't have the physical and psychological energy to. Especially not after the evening he had just had.

Snape found him a few moments into this cathartic state.

He marched up to him and grabbed him roughly again – by the other arm this time – and proceeded to rant insults and accusations in a furious tone. Harry heard the sounds but it was like they were in a foreign language. He understood the voice was outraged but didn't know why. He was too dazed, his eyes drifting shut from time to time.

Then the professor pulled him behind him. He pulled him down the stairs and through corridors. Harry stumbled lots – the stairs had been scary – but ultimately regained enough motor function to follow on autopilot.

When he lifted his head, it was because the light had changed and his senses had picked up on that, if nothing else.

They were in a bright room, with a lot of lit candles. The scent of wood and paper was very strong. He'd been here before...

The Headmistress's study. Yes.

"...This...unacceptable... Minerva!" Harry tuned into the conversation. He blinked and looked at the two professors. Snape had let go of his arm and stood with his arms crossed and with his mouth white from having been pressed into a thin line.

The Headmistress didn't look happy either, her elbows and forearms on the desk, her sharp, feline-like eyes staring at him through small lens.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Potter?" she asked. Harry didn't have anything to say for himself.

"I'm very sorry, Ma'am." that was a jolly that worked in whatever situation. That, coupled with lowering his eyes.

"' _Sorry'_ , that is your only excuse. At least your father had some imagination!" Snape scorned.

"Severus." the woman said in a reproachful tone, "We hardly judge students for what their fathers did." then she handed him a letter.

"What is this?"

"The reason as to why we cannot expel him. Not that such behaviour, as bad as it may be, requires an expulsion." she explained sternly.

Snape read the letter in silence, then a slow, frightening sneer appeared on his face.

"Of course Dumbledore had something to do with all of this." he said drily.

Harry was curious to know what was going on about him, but was at least smart enough not to ask.

"As things are, I'm sure you, Severus, can come up with adequate punishment." McGonagall said with finality and a clear dismissal.

Snape walked out and so did Harry.

"And Severus? Do give the boy ice for his face. It has started to swell."

"Come. With me." Snape enunciated to Harry before striding ahead, his long legs taking huge steps Harry always had to jog to keep up.

The professor escorted him right up to his room, where Theo was still up and reading.

"Go get an ice pack for Potter." Snape barked at him. Then looking at Harry, "Tomorrow after breakfast, you can come to my study and spend the day in detention with me."

With a head-splitting migraine and a sore jaw, Harry slipped under the covers.

It was only natural, following an empiric case-study of his life, that he'd wake at half past one in the night drenched and gasping, horrible fragments of memory still playing behind his lids.

* * *

Saturday passed exactly how Snape had predicted.

Harry presented himself at the door of the classroom, head pounding and all but drenched in sweat, and obeyed Snape's "Sit and be quiet" greeting for the day.

He was feeling the calm of a prisoner sentenced to die. His tongue throbbed more than his face after he had bitten into it a few times, and the metallic taste of blood was still slouching around in his mouth, but all this didn't matter because, any time now, Snape would bring out the cane and beat him bloody. Harry just couldn't believe he had actually gone so far as running away from him. _Again._ Talk about disrespect. It was a miracle – or perhaps a sadistic psychopath – the school was still putting up with him and hadn't expelled him.

Snape motioned wordlessly at the black board, then added as if speaking to him was painful "two-hundred and fifty times. Then you can write a three-hundred words essay on why one does not get into fights in bathrooms and then hide from a teacher like a three year old".

The problem was, he had never been able to see the board very well. When professors wrote on it, they either read it aloud afterwards or he looked at Hermione's notes to see.

Right then, Harry had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to write as lines. He knew it was a very long sentence, it took up almost half the blackboard. He could guess the first single letter was an _I,_ and the third word could be an _and_ an _ant_ or a _not._ Going with logic, it was a not.

Knowing lines-structure, the first bit was _I will not._

Harry wrote that and then squinted to make out the verb.

It took him almost an hour to understand and decipher it. It helped he knew what he had done this time. When he was younger, he used to have to write lines for no apparent reason – or none he could understand – and he always got shouted at for being unable to 'copy right from the board'. What he had to write was something like _I will not fight in bathrooms and then try avoiding detentions, because it will only increase my punishment._

They – both he and Snape who had settled in with a newspaper in front of him – skipped Saturday's lunch. Harry managed to write almost a hundred and fifty before his hand began to cramp. It was a little harder to write clearly after that.

It was a few hours before supper when Snape set the paper down, told him to pack up and be there Monday after supper.

Harry reflected on his luck during his walk to the Great Hall. Not only Snape was having him only write lines, and was giving him a free Sunday, but he would have to skip Latin with Malfoy again on Monday. That actually sounded like a damn good prospect. Only down side – and of course there was a down side – he was going to have to _talk_ with the blond.

He did that the first chance he got, Sunday evening before supper. Malfoy just looked down his nose at him. He gave him the most superior sneer yet and turned his back on him, joining his friends around the fire in the common room.

Harry hated that fire.

The school was a very old-style building, with fireplaces in all the commons – or so Hermione had told him – but Harry couldn't understand _why_ the fires had to be lit every day. They had electric heaters, for Christ's sake.

He had very bad memories of fire. Every time his gaze settled on a flicking tongue of flame – which Harry avoided doing as much as possible – his left arm still tingled all over, and Harry felt the need to sooth it by rubbing it furiously.

* * *

Monday was not a fun day. In Chemistry Snape called on him at every question, and while Harry could have been able to answer them all after having spent the rest of the weekend mainly on that subject, he still wasn't sure if Snape wanted him to answer correctly or not. So he held up the pattern of answering one and looking down silently for the next two, all through the lesson.

At the end, when he looked up from his notes because he felt two eyes drilling holes in his back, he saw Malfoy's grey eyes fixed on him. He didn't even avert his gaze when Harry returned the stare.

Admittedly, Harry wasn't sure if he was looking at him specifically, seen as he couldn't see very well from that distance, but since it was almost impossible he was staring at Hermione beside him...

Malfoy kept staring at him in History, and in Trig. The staring was getting awfully uncomfortable.

If Harry had had any of that rebellious adrenaline left in his body, he would have asked Malfoy what the hell his problem was.

During his free period after lunch, which he spent alone in the library, Malfoy came in, sauntering up to one table over from his own, and started bragging loudly among his friends about his 'spectacular kick' last Saturday, against Ravenclaw. They laughed and talked so loudly Harry couldn't concentrate, and instead of understanding the properties of the fifth circle of electrons, he came to know all about the game that Saturday, and the fact that now Slytherin was winning the tournament by seven points. _Go team._

Harry sighed quietly and closed his books, thinking of going to his room to study.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Potter. Was our conversation bothering you?" the blond taunted as he passed them on his way out. Harry didn't acknowledge him in any way. His chin and nose still throbbed when he made faces or talked.

"Aw, look at little Potty, all alone without his little whore studying with him." Malfoy went on, and his lapdogs all snickered and laughed like hyenas. Harry didn't know what they found so funny.

That night he went to his detention with Snape, and in silence Harry took out his lines and started on them again, while he could hear the almost-constant scratch of Snape's red pen on some poor students' homework. Occasionally, he could hear him mutter under his breath.

It should have been relaxing, the scratching and the repetitive motions his hand had to do, but it was anything but.

Harry could not get rid of the tension that gripped him whenever he was in the man's presence. He expected a slap to come at any second for something he had done wrong without realising. It was nerve-wreaking.

His back hurt from staying so wound-up and straight for several hours on end, and his migraine was back with a vengeance.

"Go. I'll see you tomorrow at the same time." Snape told him at one point, his voice so unexpected and yet so nervously awaited that Harry startled hard.

He took his time putting away his work to get the trembling in his hands under control.

"Goodnight, sir." he said in the silent room, and he left.

His anxiety left all at once the moment he wasn't in the room anymore, and his legs wobbled so much he actually had to lean against a wall for a second.

When he walked back to the dorms, Malfoy was at the long table at the back. Harry wouldn't have noticed him if not for the shrill giggle Pansy Parkinson made after the blond leaned in to whisper something in her ear, his eyes never leaving Harry.

He was honestly too tired to deal with Malfoy again today, and made his way up, dread slowly curling in his stomach at the thought of lunch the day after tomorrow. It was going to be a Wednesday, and that meant Latin tutoring.

* * *

"Where were you at lunch, Potter?" Malfoy asked as a way of greeting when he came in for Harry's tutoring the next day.

Harry thought it was really none of Malfoy's business where he was when it wasn't mandatory to be in a certain place. Harry therefore shrugged, hoping to brush away the question like that.

"You are never at lunch, and almost never at breakfast. Do you know where the kitchens are? Is that how you get food?" Malfoy accused with a very suspicious tone. Harry's eyes widened at those words. They could get him in so much trouble if Malfoy went to Snape.

"Of course not!" Harry defended immediately. Stealing food was absolutely out of the question for him, he had never thought of doing something like that since he was an ignorant six year old.

"Then where do you eat?" Malfoy insisted.

"Why do you care so much?" Harry shot back, annoyed and completely taken aback. Malfoy stilled for a second before taking out a chair and getting his books out.

"I don't give a shit about you, Scarhead." he said finally, and they started on causal and temporal subordinates.

"Why did you not answer the question on hypothetical clauses in class yesterday?" Malfoy asked at one point.

"I didn't know the answer." Harry replied with furrowed eyebrows.

"You applied the theory perfectly to this passage now." Malfoy contradicted. Harry wanted to hit himself. These were the kinds of slips he really should pay attention to.

"I-I looked it up afterwards." Harry made up, looking down at the translation on his notebook. Malfoy made a non-committal noise from beside him, which sounded very much not convinced.

"You are an absolute idiot, did you know that, Potter?"

Harry didn't replay, merely focusing on the next sentence to translate.

* * *

Detention again.

Wednesday night he started on his three-hundred word essay. He wanted to do a really good job on it, because he wanted to show Snape he really had learned from his mistake. He was not going to get into trouble again, not this year, not when he was finally blissfully away from his relatives.

He had already thought of the structure beforehand, and worked for three hours on making it perfect.

Snape left at some point, probably to go and get a newspaper or something, and he left with heavy threats not to move nor speak nor do anything that wasn't working on his paper, until he came back, unless he wanted to face a very severe punishment.

Of course Harry didn't, and so he worked quietly until the professor came back some time later with a stack of white envelopes with him.

When Snape told him he could go, he handed both works in, the lines and the essay, before saying goodnight.

"Potter." Snape called him back with his tenor voice and chills like tiny needles ran down his spine. He turned with his eyes lowered.

"This arrived for you. The police on your case had to check it was not a threat of some sort." Snape handed him an opened envelop. Addressed to him. Harry had never gotten a letter.

"For me?" he had to ask.

"Yes, from your loving _uncle._ Now get back to your common room and out of my sight." Snape ordered curtly. There was no need to. Harry's heart had stopped at the mention of his uncle. Why had Uncle Vernon written him? Had something happened regarding his parents' killer? Was he going to have to leave Hogwarts?

He did not open the letter immediately, holding it loosely in his hand all the way back. The paper felt weird in his hand. He just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his Uncle had _written to_ him.

The common room was unusually crowded, just his luck.

"Lo and behold, Potter is back!" Malfoy said loudly, and Zabini beside him started giggling. There was something wrong in the scene before him, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

"He's got a letter in his hand!" Parkinson pointed at him, and Harry couldn't understand where all the excitement was coming from. There was a strange smell in the air, a little acrid, a little sweet.

One of the Dudleys – Harry still couldn't tell Goyle from Crabb – approached him with his menacing demeanour, and Harry took a step back, ready to protect himself. The oaf snatched the letter from his hand with a surprisingly agile move.

The letter passed from hand to hand until it reached Malfoy.

 _What the..._

"Aw, listen everyone, it's from his dear Uncle, Sirius Black!" _What?_

"The criminal who escaped prison?" Parkinson's exclamation was done in her shrill, eardrum-perforating voice.

"Oh yes, listen to this..." Malfoy started, and Harry wanted to lunge and take it from him. He had no idea what that mentally-unstable – and apparently _delusional –_ man could have written, but sure as hell he did not want the whole Slytherin House to know.

"Malfoy..." Harry started, taking a few steps forward, only to have Crabb and Goyle crush him between them, holding him back.

" _My dear Harry, How are you? I'm sorry I haven't written sooner. I hope the slimy snakes haven't corrupted you too much. Stay away from them as much as you can Harry, they are a bad influence. Better yet! Since you have access to their lair, you can play lots of pranks! Have you played any pranks yet? Have you discovered that secret passage on the third floor? That will come in handy if you want to get to Hogsmeade (I know you're not supposed to, but once or twice won't hurt). If you want some ideas for jokes or to get back at old Snivellus for something, don't hesitate to ask, your uncle is ready to help you. And if you want a little help during tests, I can send you a brilliant tool your father and I always used. Waiting excitedly for your reply, -S_ " Malfoy read everything with a pompous, self-important voice, and everyone was shaking with laughter. Next time Harry received a letter from his self-named Uncle, he was going to tear it to pieces there and then wherever he stood.

"Do you need a little help in tests, Potter?" Zabini called before cracking up. All their laughter sounded a little hysterical to Harry. He decided all the possible damage was done, and he might as well leave the letter in Malfoy's hands.

He walked down to his room.

"What is it like, Potter, having a criminal for an uncle? What was he arrested for? He wasn't the one who killed your parents, was he?" Malfoy called, and a hush fell on the whole room.

Harry curled his hands into fists and breathed deeply. He had never wished to punch someone as much as he wished it right then. Before he got himself beaten to a pulp, he opened his eyes and kept walking, without a word.

"They're still smoking in there?" Theo's serene voice asked from his bed. Harry didn't understand the question and didn't reply.

For some reason, tears started streaming down his face that night. After he had woken up from a nightmare he couldn't even remember, salty water began dampening his cheeks and his pillow, and he felt so numb he had no strength to question why he was even crying.

* * *

The next day was Thursday, which meant remedial Chemistry lesson. Snape hadn't said a word to him on his essay or lines, not that Harry expected him to.

It was with a lot of trepidation and stomach-ache that Harry knocked on the Chemistry classroom door at seven. A little too early, perhaps, seen as the appointment was at half-seven, but better early than late.

When a thunderous 'enter' sounded from within the classroom, Harry knew something had happened.

He opened the door warily, walked in sloth-slow and looked at Snape from under his eyelashes, so to keep his head bowed respectfully.

"Sit, Potter." Snape had that fake-soft tone which absolutely scared the shit out of Harry.

He sat.

"Would you know anything about a theft?" Snape was leaning in front of the teacher's desk, way too close to where Harry was sitting in the first row for comfort. Harry was painfully aware they were alone.

"No, sir." He didn't have the absolute faintest what the man was talking about.

"Some very... _questionable_ ingredients have mysteriously disappeared from my private, _locked_ cabinet, Potter." Snape informed him. Harry pulled his eyebrows together, his eyes never lifting from the desk. _What did this have to do with him?_

Harry remained silent as the atmosphere in the classroom became freezing cold, and one could easily hear Harry's accelerated breathing.

"You don't know anything about it?" Snape asked again. Harry shook his head.

Hands came down _hard_ to bang on his desk, right in front of his face. Harry flinched back so violently the chair screeched on the tiled floor as it jerked back.

"You want to know what _I_ know, Mr Potter?" Snape asked. That was obviously rhetorical. To his horror, Snape held out a short, messily written piece of paper.

Harry only need to glimpse ' _my dear'_ – he was nobody's 'my dear' anything – to understand it was the ex-convict's damned letter.

"I know that your _uncle_ Sirius Black was one well-trained thief. He could break into anything, no matter how well it was locked. You receive _this_ letter, one of who knows how many. Then my ingredients get stolen. And I know that if given to someone with a little intelligence, _or a criminal background_ the compounds missing could be turned into mild-excitant drugs. Are you noticing a certain _fil rouge_ in all of this?" he whispered. Harry's mind immediately jumped to the acrid taste of the air still floating around the common room. He wanted to groan and bash his head against the table, but fear of what this interrogation meant kept him frozen. His brain was slowly sinking in fog, and he could feel a panic attack coming.

 _No no no nonono, breathe, just breathe._

"You were the only one with direct access to this room yesterday. What are your thoughts on _this_ , Mr Potter?" Snape banged his hands against the desk again, with such force Harry was sure it was going to break.

"I don't know anything about this, sir." _please,_ he added silently, knowing his voice sounded pathetic and feeble, but having to focus on his breathing and on pronouncing a coherent sentence, deprived him of the mental faculties to moderate his tone.

"Don't lie to me, boy!" Snape exploded, pushing away from the table and coming around to grip him by the upper-arm, forcing him on his feet.

"I can get you expelled for this. I _will_ get you _expelled_." Snape spit in his face as Harry was still processing the horror of what was surely one of his worse nightmares, "This could get you sent to a detention camp, Potter. Selling drugs is illegal, and trust me, you'd be safer than you are here once behind bars." he was hissing in his ear, his grip so strong it was cutting off his circulation and probably leaving bruises.

"I don't-" Harry was officially hyperventilating. Everything felt detached from him, he was observing the whole scene as third party. It looked so much like when Uncle Vernon accused him of having nicked money from the kitchen reserves that it was downright surreal.

"Silence! I know Black told you how to do it. He probably asked you to send some to him. I've talked with your guardians." he said at last, and Harry tuned in, his heart in his throat.

"They told me what a lazy, good-for-nothing you are. Told me all about your old school. If you think you can get away with petty delinquency with me, you're sourly mistaken." Snape shook him, Harry's teeth chattered together and he felt his whole body giving up, caving in on itself. If it weren't for that death-grip on his arm keeping him up right, he'd have fallen to the floor.

"Don't you have anything to say, _boy_!?"

 _"MMH? DON'T YOU, BOY?" Harry felt pain. Vernon's hands were so big they easily crushed three-quarters of his face whenever he hit him._

 _"WORTHLESS FREAK!" the huge man kept shouting, his skin had become true purple as he got fired up. Harry got thrown into a wall and then kicked, right in the stomach. He couldn't breathe but the inside of his torso felt hollow so of course air didn't get in, there were no lungs anymore to do that._

 _His hair was being pulled up and then released sharply, and when his head hit the ground Harry coughed up blood._ Now _he could breathe, his lungs were back._

 _His Uncle was shouting something else, something loud, but his ears were ringing and his eyes could only see shades now. The pain in his head was the worst, worse even than the rhythmic slash of fire that he felt on his back. Vernon had really lost it tonight, if he was using the belt._

 _What was it he had done this time? He couldn't remember, but he wanted the pain to stop. He needed it to stop..._

Harry twisted out of Snape's grip, not knowing where he was, not knowing what he was doing. He just needed to escape the pain. He twisted, he was free, and he dashed towards a door, any door. He ran, ran through empty space, and upstairs, down other long spaces – corridors? – until he was hopelessly lost, and had no idea where he was, what he was doing.

He pushed open a door which in his unconscious mind registered as safe, because behind there was a bathroom. Bathrooms were safe, usually.

Harry stood there, maybe he sat, or maybe he fainted. He was not in his mind anymore. He was in too much pain. He stood, or sat, or lay unconscious, for hours. Days. Time meant nothing. Everything meant nothing. _He_ was nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6.**

Draco was coming back from soccer practice. He was usually surrounded by his friends, but since he was the one that took longest in the showers and then getting dressed – he refused to come out of there while he looked like a sweaty, working-class brat – all his teammates had learned to just go ahead and walk back without him.

That meant Draco was on his own, but he didn't mind. It was nice being alone occasionally, not having to pretend to listen and nod to all the inanities some of his housemates said.

He was on the first floor, walking leisurely towards the Slytherin dormitories, when he passed in front of a boys' loo. Draco knew which bathrooms had mirrors in the school – not all of them did, which he found absolutely criminal – and the first-floor bathroom did. He went in, to check his appearance was to his liking before he went to the common room. He knew he hadn't upset his uniform on the way up from the locker rooms, but sometimes his hair acted out. Very rarely, but it was worth a check.

He went in. He nearly got a heart-attack.

Potter was there, in the corner of the bathroom, stuck between a sink and the wooden wall of a toilet stall. The boy was huddled in a tight ball, arms wrapped around his knees, blank eyes staring right ahead. He was rocking gently. What alarmed Draco was the fact that he had a fist in his mouth and his teeth were drawing blood.

"Potter! What the hell is wrong with you?" Draco burst out, too shocked to add a mean tone or an insult. There was no sign he had been heard.

He walked closer, approaching him like he did when he didn't want to scare away the peacocks back home.

"Potter?" he called again, more level, more unsure. He kept rocking back and forth, blood running down his fist.

"Potter, what the fuck." Draco bit out under his breath, crouching next to him. The thought of calling a teacher entered his mind and then left it. He touched his hand tentatively, and seeing there was no reaction, grasped it firmly and pulled it out of his mouth. Potter started shaking then, and his mouth started moving in whispered words and pained whimpers.

Draco leaned in to try to catch what he was saying, thinking maybe it would tell him what was going on.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please...please I'll try harder...please, I'm so sorry..." Draco pulled away from the litany, completely at a loss.

Potter had started to cry, tear streaks dampening his face.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Draco muttered. He took a hold of Potter's chin and drew it up so it was looking at him square in the face.

"Potter. Wake up." he said clearly, loudly, squeezing a little to try and get his attention. He repeated it over and over, until Potter blinked, slowly, and his chanting mouth stopped moving and he stopped rocking.

"Malfoy?" he whispered. The boy always whispered or mumbled, with a voice so soft if one wasn't paying very close attention, they'd miss it. He never looked anyone in the eye either.

With his chin still held gently in his hand though, Potter was forced to look right at him. Draco, for the first time since he had met him, almost a months ago, could see clearly into his eyes. They were huge and _green._

"Yes, Potter, good to know your mental faculties aren't _completely_ compromised." Draco forced his tone to sound light and sarcastic.

"Where..." he asked softly, moving his head to look around. Draco released him and stepped away to give him room. Looking him over, Draco saw how _pale_ and sickly he looked, how insecurely he moved his limbs, as if waking up from a daze.

"First floor loo." Draco answered his half question. Potter usually used half questions, as if afraid to put a question mark at the end of what he said.

Potter frowned, then placed his hands to push himself up to his feet. Seeing the way he moved, Draco more than expected to have to catch him and hold him up.

"I'm fine," he whispered, staying upright thanks to Draco and his death-grip on the sink.

"Yes, I can see that." Draco's tone dripped sarcasm. He let him go however, so he could stand on his own. Seeing him so fragile, so weak, immediately brought to mind the last bathroom they had been in together, when Draco had lost it and given him those black bruises on his face. That made him snort.

"There must be something about bathrooms for us, Potter." he mused aloud. The other boy pulled his eyebrows together and then relaxed them, the smallest smile on his lips.

"They bring out the worst in us?" he guessed. Draco smirked without humour and looked away.

The worst indeed. He was perfectly aware of the fact that he was rich and therefore could be as arrogant and posh as he liked, but last Friday... something had been broken and he had tried fixing it by beating up Potter. It had never happened before, that overpowering rage that made him see red and left him barely coherent. Then again, his father had never been as deep in shite as he was now.

He had wanted to apologize, during the detention they would have shared with Snape, but Potter hadn't come. To say Severus had been furious was an understatement.

"Come on, we better get to the commons, it's almost past curfew." Draco said. He wasn't too sure Potter was feeling well enough to walk the whole way to the Slytherin dorms though. _Maybe he should take him to Madam Pomfrey_ he reflected as he watched Potter, startled into thinking he looked like a newborn foal.

"Do you want to go to the Infirmary?" he felt obliged to ask, after he had watched him take a step away from the sink and stumble almost to his knees. Draco caught him and put one of his arms around his own shoulders to keep him up. He could have easily picked him up bridal-style, the boy weighted less than his Cheshire cat.

"No!" the rejection was so strong for someone who usually spoke under his breath, it stunned Draco.

"Calm down, idiot, I won't be trekking all the way to the hospital wing unless you're dying, and much less if you don't want me do, rest assured of that!" he replied.

They started walking, Draco supporting most of him and barely breaking a sweat. He _was_ probably messing up his perfectly ironed dress-shirt though.

"What the hell happened anyway?" he asked. Draco felt the tremor that went through Potter thanks to the way he was pressed completely against Draco's right side.

"I'm not sure," he whispered. Draco _really_ wanted to press for more, call him out on his lie, but after seeing him on that bathroom floor, completely out of it, he was a little wary of upsetting him too much.

"Does this happen often?" he asked instead.

"This in particular not too much." _In particular?_ Draco stored away that clue for later inspection. They walked in silence, down the stairs and around the corner that lead them to the Slytherin commons. Draco was about to walk past it when Potter, going still, looked at him questioningly.

"The dorms are here," he murmured, nodding towards the door with the huge Slytherin banner on it.

"You look like shite. Your hand needs to be cleaned and bandaged and you might also have damaged the tendons. Snape can look at it, he has some basic medicine knowledge."

Draco saw Potter lose what little colour he had gained.

"N-n-no, n-not Snape." he breathed, his eyes so wide they took up most of his face.

"Don't be stupid, Potter-"

"N-no, please." he whispered, trying to wiggle free from him. The moment Draco let him go, he felt to his knees. Draco picked him up again, hushing his sudden hysterics.

"Alright, alright, Scarhead. No Snape. Just calm down." the last thing he needed was a repeat of the bathroom scene in front of the Slytherin dorms after curfew.

"I can do it myself, I have some things in my room. Come on." he said. He prayed the common room was empty and dark enough that no one would notice them. Luck was usually on his side, and this time was no different. There were only five people there, all lower-class students who didn't pay them any attention at all.

Draco thought about just giving Potter the alcohol and the bandages and let him deal with it, he was sixteen years old, he surely knew how to disinfect and tie up a few cuts.

However... he felt reluctant to let him go. He did not like the thought of giving off this responsibility. He wanted to make sure all his invested effort was worth something. He would see Potter bandaged and into bed before he would forget this whole thing and wake up tomorrow to start a new day.

"Zabini..." Potter said softly as they made their way to his room.

"He's off fucking Daphne Greengrass tonight. Honestly, Potter, keep up with local gossip."

The room, as Draco had predicted, was empty. He dropped Potter off on Blaise's bed and went to rummage around his wardrobe. He came out victorious holding a bottle of pink alcohol and fresh gauze.

"That isn't necessary..." Ha-Potter – for some reason Draco had started _almost_ thinking of him as Harry – protested weakly. Draco gave him a _look_ and the boy shut up. He sat next to him and took great care in cleaning the wounds thoroughly and applying the bandage. Harry didn't make a sound throughout it all.

"There." Draco said satisfied of his handiwork. "Go to bed now and sleep." he ordered, before gathering his own toiletries and going to the bathroom.

The next morning Draco joined Blaise in the showers.

"Someone looks like they had a good shag last night." Draco commented as he lathered his hair.

"It's a shame and a waste you only like blokes, Draco. Girls can be very entertaining too. A boy _and_ a girl together even more so."

"So you've been telling me for the past three years." Draco said distractedly.

"You want me to show you what I did with Daphne?" his voice, with the slightest Italian accent, was right next to his ear. His hot breath immediately stirred his body to full wakefulness.

"Whatever you guys do, _not_ in here." that was Theo's voice, coming from the sinks.

"Spoilsport." Blaise muttered but stepped away.

"We always have between History and Trig." Draco reminded him with a smirk.

"I'm holding you to that." Blaise grinned back. Draco finished showering and went to the sink to start shaving and drying his hair.

Being always perfect took a lot of time and effort.

It was a good thing he was a fast eater, because he always had less than fifteen minutes to have breakfast if he didn't want to run late to Chemistry, which was something one _didn't_ do, even if the man was his Godfather.

Draco couldn't help noticing Potter wasn't at breakfast.

He was at Chemistry though, looking so pale and on edge it was a wonder he managed not to faint.

They were doing a practical class that day, getting to mix compounds and elements and record reactions. Draco was good in Chem, and his partner, Theo – Blaise was a good roommate, a good fuck and a good friend, but a good class-partner he was not – was more than capable of doing the work as well as he. Which was just as well, since he couldn't stop glancing at Potter to make sure he wasn't going to fall over. Snape was always stalking past his desk like a vulture, snapping insults and sarcasm more than usual at Potter and his unfortunate tramp.

At the end of class, Draco let Theo walk up to the desk and hand in their work, while he shouldered his bookbag and followed Potter and Granger out. The two split in front of Math class, Granger waving goodbye as she made her way towards the gym.

Potter sat beside a Hufflepuff girl in this class, and Draco kept an eye on him here too, as he took notes diligently and slowly gained a little colour. He had noticed this before, how Potter relaxed a little around the other professors, noticeably tensing up with McGonagall but going absolutely corpse-like with Snape.

That was interesting, wasn't it?

* * *

Draco suffered Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm on their way to supper. He knew this was the only meal Potter attended, and he couldn't wait to make sure he was all right. Greg, that all meat and no brains, had gone a little overboard during volleyball in P.E. Draco had marvelled at the fact that after a hit like that, Potter's glasses were still intact. Mostly.

Potter arrived after supper had started, and as usual sat there, played around with the vegetables, nibbled on bread and, only more recently, on the steak, and sipped water.

"What the hell did you do to Snape, Potter, spit into his plate?" Blaise was giving start to the usual round of taunting they did to try and get a reaction from the tosser. Potter as usual tensed, his eyes carefully fixed on his plate, and ignored them.

"Hey, Potter-"

"Come on guys, he's not worth it. I'm sure we can find better things to amuse us." Draco spoke up, interrupting Pansy. It wasn't like he felt sorry for the boy, but it really had gotten boring for some reason. Besides, it annoyed him when the others bullied him. That was only something _he_ had a right to.

That night was Friday. Friday meant tea and finally interesting conversation with Uncle Severus, if he wasn't supervising detentions or giving remedial classes to brats.

Draco knew the man had been awfully disappointed in him after that accident in the bathroom. Of course he had only been let off with an hour of detention while he knew Potter got a lot more, but the disappointment was actually heavier to bear, something Potter for sure had never experienced.

Draco knocked on his Uncle's study and pushed in only after he heard permission to. Severus was sitting behind his great desk, marking essays.

"Draco." he acknowledged, and stood, motioning him to his little sitting room, where hot tea and cups were already waiting.

"Any news from my father?" was the first thing he asked. The first thing he had to know.

His father hadn't replied to his letters, and his mother had been full of empty reassurances. He wanted to _know_ damn it. Only because he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps and enter politics, didn't mean he was going to be completely estranged to it. Not that his father knew of his secret ambition. If he knew Draco wanted to be a biological engineer, he'd disown him faster than he could say it.

"No. The campaign is still on-going, your father's counsellors are working on burying all that has to be buried. We'll know more at the end of December," his Uncle said. Draco could say that the person he liked best after his sweet Mother, was Uncle Severus. The man never hid anything from him, had never treated him like a child and had never lied to him, which was more than he could say about his own father.

"I understand" Draco said. He took the offered teacup and they drank in silence for a few moments.

"You've been distracted today." his Uncle noted. Draco was always taken by surprise when he was reminded just what a good observer and spy his Uncle was and had been.

"Something...happened last night." Draco was reluctant to tell him everything after Potter's reaction to Snape's name. He was beyond curious though, and he tried to turn his thoughts so that he could present the issue and know more about it without mentioning the exact circumstances.

"'Something' is very vague, Draco." his Uncle said, arching a black eyebrow. Draco set down his cup and cleared his throat.

"Do you know anything about...panic attacks?" that had been his first guess, after he had reflected on Potter's state.

"A little, yes." of course, his Uncle didn't give anything away.

"I've... encountered, yesterday, a hypothetical situation. What would you say if I presented you with a person who has completely phased out, but isn't unconscious. They are rocking themselves and muttering apologies under their breath... it is like they are in a trance very hard to snap out of." Draco explained as best as he could.

"I would ask you where exactly did you _encounter_ this hypothetical situation?"

"On the internet. We're doing mental traumas in Biology" Draco lied with a straight face. Severus was the only one who knew about his plans for University, and he had been the one to suggest using the internet to 'research all that might come to mind' regarding biology and engineering.

"Were you now?" Severus said, clearly sceptical.

"Do you know what illness it could be?" Draco insisted.

"It's hard to determine something like this with only your description and not the patient's point of view. However, it does sound like some sort of panic attack. Maybe even a case of PTSD, if they were muttering phrases over and over."

"And what could cause it?"

"Many things. Psychological pressure, depression, certain events that triggered a bad memory or a flashback..."

Draco made a non-committal noise to show he understood. Snape drank his tea and Draco got up to look through his Uncle's vast collection of books.

"How about not eating? And always using a quiet voice, never looking at someone in the eye?" he asked, offhandedly.

"Are you thinking of someone in particular?" his Uncle said, his tone inquisitive.

"No, not really. Still that hypothetical case." Draco blinked at him innocently, waiting.

"Not eating in general could be anything. If we want to be drastic, anorexia. However, it can really be a secondary factor to many things. The latter attitude only describes someone shy."

"But everything put together?" Draco pressed. He was going to really have a look on the internet, but his Uncle's opinion was invaluable.

"Panic attacks, possibly PTSD, anorexia and a skittish demeanour? I wouldn't know, I'm not a psychologist, Draco."

"Uncle Sev!" Draco whinged. His Uncle sighed heavily, annoyed, placed his teacup on the table and looked at him, crossing his arms.

"Is this a student?" he asked. Draco had known he'd find out eventually, but this was a little too not-eventually and more like immediately.

"Maybe."

"Who is it?"

"Why do you want to know so much?"

"Because the person in question could be very sick. From mental depression, to severe trauma to neglect or physical abuse, it requires an expert's opinion."

Draco's head wavered for a second. Those were some heavy words. He'd need to think about this.

"Have you finished inquiring after you 'hypothetical case'?"

"Yeah. Yes, I guess I have. Shall I leave you to your marking?" Draco asked, edging for the door.

"Yes. Have a goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight Uncle Sev."

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm not a doctor and my field of study has nothing to do with psychology or anything like that. I don't claim diagnostic accuracy in Draco's description of Harry's condition (or Harry's symptoms for that matter).


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7.**

"I can't believe Snape gave you detention on a Saturday again." Hermione sympathized with him Saturday morning. They had two hours before she went to Hogsmeade to see her parents and he went to detention. He was trying very hard not to think about that.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright Harry? You look..."

"Bad?" Harry tried to joke, but his voice was a little rough from being absolutely terrified about what was going to happen in two hours' time.

"What's up with Malfoy?" she changed topic, unwittingly going from thorns to poison. She nodded her chin at the table behind them, where Malfoy and his two bodyguards were sitting. Malfoy was reading, but Harry wasn't sure what the Dudleys were doing. They weren't exactly the reading types.

"What about him?" Harry asked. He had been only too aware of Malfoy's stares all Friday and this morning. Harry _really_ wanted to ask what his deal was. Okay, fine, he had helped him during a bad episode, of the kind that happened only once or twice a year, on very specific occasions, but still...

"He's been watching you like a hawk these past few days. And he hasn't bothered us. Not once." she remarked. Harry had noticed that part too.

"Who knows." he said, shaking his shoulders and looking around for a change of topic again.

"So where will you go with your parents today?"

* * *

Draco grinned to himself. Eavesdropping was too easy. Not so much with Potter, what with the way he almost mouthed things instead of saying them, but it was easy enough with the Granger girl. She talked loudly enough for both of them.

Draco got up and gestured carelessly for Greg and Vince to follow him. He did not care a wince about Granger's plans for the weekend. He only cared that Potter was going to be in detention that morning.

He hurried to the dormitories, where he knew Theo was. He liked doing homework on Saturday and relax on Sunday. Odd bloke.

"Theo, I need to ask you a favour." he told his childhood friend. They were almost all childhood friends, there in Slytherin. Elite high-class society and all that.

"What is it?"

"Can we go to your room?"

"Why?" the problem with Theo was he was way too suspicious, and not really a follower or a pushover. He was an aristocratic loner, but he could do that, because he was old money.

"I'll explain if you come." Draco said, opening the door to let him in first. Theo walked in the centre of his room and stood.

Draco had the morbid curiosity to study Potter's room. It was neat, more than his own. His bed was made, no books were left carelessly on the desk, and every clothing article was probably in the cupboard, neatly folded. His part of the room reminded Draco of a monk's cell.

"What do you think of Harry Potter?" he asked Theo.

"That's out of the blue"

"Just answer"

"Why do you ask?"

"'cause something came up."

Theo sighed almost tiredly, sat on his bed and looked out one of the windows.

"You've finally noticed too?"

"Have you?" was the quick reply. Slytherins, never showing their whole hand.

As answer, Theo crossed over the invisible line into Harry's side of the room and opened the cupboard. It was more or less how Draco had expected it. Neat and perfectly looked after. If not for the fact that it was mostly empty. There were two shirts, a sweater and one pair of trousers. That was it. In his confused silence, Theo reached in and took out one of the shirts. He held it out. It was huge, it would easily fit Greg. It would reach Potter's knees. And it had holes. The colour was mostly faded. It took that many seconds for Draco to process it all.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's all he brought from home." Theo showed him a small, empty backpack. Draco was not minimally put off by the fact that Theo has gone through Harry's things. He would have too if a strange nobody had been assigned as his roommate.

"What else do you know?" he almost demanded. He was feeling angry again, almost enraged.

"He has bad nightmares almost every night. He smothers his cries into his pillow, but I hear him anyway. He has a very weird sleeping pattern. Always goes to shower before any of us is up yet, and is always fully dressed whenever I'm around." _He never changes in front of them for P.E. either._

"What do you figure?" Draco asked in a quiet voice.

"From what I've been able to gather? Neglect. His eating disorder might also come from that." Theo shrugged.

"And you've done nothing?" Draco asked disbelieving. Theo had figured all this out a long time ago.

"It was all just conjecture. I could be completely wrong. And it is none of my business anyway. He's almost of age, whatever he's suffered, it can't really get any worse at this point." he said it in his usual level, matter-of-fact voice. Draco closed his eyes against the mental image of a thin boy, huddled on the floor, shaking for some unknown fear, bottle-green eyes staring blindly in front of him.

* * *

Harry knocked. The order to enter was curt and low. He swallowed and went in.

He didn't really remember all that well what had happened on Thursday, but he had been surprised when Snape hadn't mentioned it until that morning at breakfast. Of all the times he could have chosen to have breakfast...

"Sit" this was not said in the usual brusque manner. It was said softly. That menacing soft that put Harry on the tittering edge.

"Care to explain to me where you went Thursday night?" Snape asked.

"I-I was feeling ill. I'm sorry sir, I shouldn't have run like that." Harry looked up and then down. He was technically telling the truth. Was he going to ask about the broken-in cabinet again?

"In regards to the theft, I've decided to let matters go. I've installed a safe lock on it, and expect a similar accident not to happen again." he told Harry. He let out the first breath since he walked into the room, relieved and almost disbelieving.

"However, your behaviour the other night was inexcusable." he said. Harry tensed.

"I require an explanation, Mr. Potter. And do be thorough and exhaustive in it."

Harry opened his mouth without sound. He did the fish a couple more times, before swallowing.

"I...really don't know...what to say. I'm sorry." he added, for good measure. Snape's eyes became slits.

"Get up, Mr Potter." he ordered. Snape walked around his own desk and around Harry's, only to stop when he was hovering right beside where he had stood.

"I had an interesting chat with Draco Malfoy, last night." he said. Harry started, his heart hammering in his throat. _That bastard. That two-faced..._

"He wouldn't tell me a name, but he was talking about an injured student, asking very curious questions..." the tenor was soft and deceptively gentle. "Would you know anything about _that,_ Mr Potter?"

"No, sir." Harry forced the answer out of his uncooperative throat. It sounded strangled.

He saw the hand moving from under his lashes. The reaction was instinctive. He flinched violently, his arms coming up to protect his face from the blow. Which didn't come.

Harry lowered his arms slowly, so afraid his vision was turning a little black at the edges.

Snape was looking at him with dark eyes, nostril flaring, his right hand held frozen in mid-air. From its position and the way the fingers were slightly curled, it was obvious he hadn't been about to strike him, probably just grab his shoulder or his chin.

Harry felt like the greatest idiot for his overreaction. He felt a blush on his cheeks, and he looked down and away, wanting to just die already.

"Look at me, Potter." the tone was expressionless. Harry couldn't do anything else but look up. He had to furrow his eyebrows to hold the black gaze. Snape's mouth thinned, and he did the strangest thing. _He_ looked away.

"You'll be having detentions with me every day after lunch for the next two weeks." he paused, probably to judge his non-existent reaction. In all honesty, Harry thought he was being too lenient. "Get out Potter, and get some rest. You look like you'll fall over any second." the words were harsh but the tone was not. It was expressionless. Harry lowered his head, picked up his book-bag and hurried out.

He spent the whole weekend wondering what the hell had happened.

The strangeness didn't end. Malfoy was always there, whenever he looked. He was staring at him, observing him, Harry could almost see his brain dissecting his every move, and he couldn't understand what the hell was going on. It scared him. He knew Malfoy was just biding his time until he could cash in the favour Harry owned him for helping him and not telling anybody about that night.

* * *

"How is your soccer practice going?" Severus asked Draco, sipping his tea.

"Uncle, tell me why you called me here on a Sunday morning."

"Is it so strange for me to want to breakfast with my Godson?"

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. They both knew why he was there. Draco was not going to be the first one to mention it, however.

After a stare down, Severus lost what little humour he had gathered and became very sombre.

"I imagine you went on in your research of that hypothetical student." he began.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you find anything of value?"

"Perhaps. Have you been pondering it too?"

"Perhaps" his Uncle echoed him. Then after a second, "I'm thinking of bringing the matter to Dumbledore."

"That old coot!? He's a demented senile!"

"Draco, watch your tongue. Albus Dumbledore is Chief Head of a very particular section of Scotland Yard. Who are _you_ to talk about him in such way?"

"He's the man that threw you in that viper nest!"

"He is Harry Potter's official guardian." Snape shut him up with that. It definitely answered the question _does he know who was the 'hypothetical case'?_

"What?" Draco asked, stunned.

"What more have you found out?" Snape asked instead.

"Theo thinks it's neglect. Showed me evidence in his very few, very worn hand-me-down possessions."

Silence descended in the room. Severus stopped pretending to eat.

"I think it's abuse." he said, very quietly. Draco narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. What was there to say?

"There probably is neglect thrown in there, but that is the least of his problems." he continued.

"So you're going to tell Dumbledore?" Draco wanted to make sure.

"There is not much else I can do. Let's start slow and see what we can achieve a little at the time. He's safe while he is here after all."

"But what about Harry?" Draco was so involved in the situation he didn't even register he called the boy by his first name, "He doesn't eat. He gets panic attacks..."

"It takes a long time to get out of this kind of thing, Draco. And there is very little we can do about it." Severus said it with a weary tone. Draco did not know much about his Godfather's past, but he was not blind. When he was younger, he had seen him half-naked. He had had nightmares about those scars for years.

"I know it does." he said quietly.

"Let me think about it, see what I can do more discreetly. Meanwhile, stop bullying him." the command was sharp. Draco winced and blushed, but didn't apologize. It wasn't his Uncle who he needed to apologize to. He would though, eventually. Draco may be an arrogant, narcissistic person, but he wasn't a heartless arsehole.

* * *

"Come on, Potter. At least look at me when I'm talking to you." whoever was behind him pulled his hair sharply and Harry had no choice but to look the tall senior in the eye. Harry had no idea who he was, but from his tie he recognized a Hufflepuff. _So much for their fluffy mascot._

"The choice is simple. Either you suck my cock, or you find a way to do my Math homework. And I want it to get an A." he had an unpleasant, nasal voice. Harry tried to choke out something, but the heel of a boot was digging hard into his back, unwittingly stabbing into a still healing belt lash, and it threatened to make it bleed all over again.

Seeing him struggle to talk, the Hufflepuff crouched down in front of him, signalling his lackey to let up a little.

"I spoke with Dean Thomas, little fag. I know you do his literature homework and he's a Senior too. You're such a swot I'm sure you can figure out a way to do integrals."

His stinking breath was shoved right into his face. "But if you think you can't, there's always the other option." he smiled disgustingly. Harry tried to shake his head and wiggle free one last time but the heel in his back pushed down hard and he had to give that up with a mental gasp of pain.

Just as he was about to give into doing his homework – he would sooner go to a teacher and report him than do him any sexual favours – he saw polished black feet approaching and a sharp, "What the fuck to you think you're doing, Smith?" which completely confused him and made his mouth go dry.

"You can wait your turn, Malfoy. Get lost." was the unconcerned answer. In reply, a low grunt from above him and the hand in his hair and the foot in his back disappeared. Harry got on all fours hesitantly, holding back a cough to not attract more attention. He turned his head however, to see one of the Dudleys punching the lights out of 'Smith''s lackey and the other standing on Malfoy's right, cracking his knuckles with a hideous noise.

"I don't think you heard me right, arsehole. Leave Potter the fuck alone or so help me I'll get you expelled." Malfoy threatened in a hiss, and the Hufflepuff lost a little colour. He threw a look at his unconscious housemate and – even though he wasn't apparently too good in mathematics – he managed to draw the statistic that three against one weren't odds in his favour. Still, he tried to puff his chest and talk it out.

"I don't get how this is any of your business." he told Malfoy. The blond crossed his arms and gave the older boy a truly evil sneer. Harry shuddered even if it wasn't directed at him.

"Get out of my sight, _Zach,_ unless you want to be beaten to a pulp right now." Zach held very still at that, his eyes shooting to Dudley-number-two and then away again.

"Whatever." he said then, and with a hateful turn of his mouth thrown Harry's way, he marched away.

A thin, cold hand grabbed Harry's upper-arm and hauled him upright.

"My God, Potter, what the hell did that tosser want from you?" Malfoy muttered under his breath with a disgusted grimace, staring at his nose.

"Nothing" Harry replied, waiting for Malfoy to pick up where 'Zach Smith' had left off. To say he was dumbfounded when the blond tossed him a white handkerchief was an understatement. Harry immediately noticed the elegant green _D.M._ embroidered on it. There was no way in hell Harry was going to soil it for a little blood.

"Get that blood off of you." Malfoy drawled when he saw Harry holding the white silk tissue between his fingers. "And will you explain to me how the hell do your glasses still look intact after a punch to the nose?" he exclaimed. Harry was still a little dazed from all that had happened and had enough focus for one thing at a time. He discreetly rubbed his sleeve under his nose, and it predictably came away bloody. He busied himself with cleaning up while his feet unconsciously followed Malfoy's as he started walking down the hall. He promised himself he'd return the handkerchief once he had had the opportunity to wash it.

"Who else has been bothering you?" he asked with his usual demanding tone.

"No one. It's fine." Harry told him, unsure why he had asked and sure as hell that he wasn't going to know anything. Who knows what Malfoy would do with the knowledge. Taunts and blackmail material to last him a lifetime.

"Get Blaise to find out who else has threatened him and make sure they don't have any teeth left by supper." Draco had turned his head slightly and ordered this to his two bodyguards in his other characteristic tone, the bored drawl. They nodded silently and left them. Harry stopped to look as they made their way to the dungeons just like that, while he and Malfoy were heading either outside or to the Great Hall. The scene had looked surreal.

"Come on, I'm hungry." Draco drawled from ahead of him and waited for Harry to reach him before continuing on. Harry therefore found himself at lunch for maybe the second time since he had started Hogwarts. He did not particularly like the situation.

His back was still a little sore where a bruise was surely taking form, and he was too confused and wary for his stomach to accept food, especially in the middle of the day.

Malfoy's never faltering stare did not help.

"So, I heard you got detention with Snape yesterday. Again. For someone as swotty and skittish as you, I really cannot fathom how you managed that." Malfoy said. It was a conversational tone, as if he wanted to talk with him and had started by picking a random topic. Harry raised his shoulders in a silent way to communicate that he didn't know either how he managed to be so irresponsible and idiotic to get two weeks of detention without really ever saying a word. He was up to three weeks of almost constant detention in the last month. And it was his first year here. He hadn't been such a nuisance to a school even when there was Dudley planting his beer cans and his weed in Harry's locker.

"I'll have to skip Wednesday's tutoring." he told Draco, since they were on topic.

"Hardly. We can do Monday and Wednesday evenings from now. I can switch practice to after lunch, I'm captain after all." he said, and elegantly put in his mouth a piece of omelette. Harry linked his fingers around his glass and played with the water within, to have something to do with his eyes. He felt compelled to sit through this hell now, since Malfoy had dragged him here and he couldn't think of a way to get out of it.

When Draco raised to leave, Harry immediately copied him and followed a few steps behind as they returned to the commons.

"I have McGonagall's reading to do still. Have you done it?" Draco asked. Harry looked at him reluctant and a little resigned. So Malfoy wanted him to do his homework too. He was just so tired of his stupid head making up fantasies. The idiotic thing was, he had started calling Malfoy by his name in his mind, and that was just more than stupid.

"Yes." he answered _Malfoy's_ question.

"Oh. I'll see you at dinner then." and with that he joined his black-skinned roommate at the long table and took out his textbooks. Harry was left rooted to the spot and confused.

Dumbfounded...

He needed to do something about this, this was dangerous.

This was so dangerous.

Harry went to his room and tried lying down and breathing through his nose. The buzz traveling through his whole body was not calming down.

 _Draco had been civil. He had_ helped _him. What did that mean!?_

 _Stop calling him Draco! It's_ Malfoy!

Harry pulled at his hair to try and get blood back into his brain cells and stop arguing with himself. That was what mentally insane people did.

So Malfoy had chased away a bully. He had made him keep him company at lunch. Had not asked anything in return.

 _Yet._ It probably just meant he had had a good day, or was bored silly. Or he was building up favours only to cash them all in in one go.

No matter how logically he tried to think, his stupid brain was slowly filling a tiny balloon in his head called _Hope._ Harry could feel it swelling and taking up room in his empty brain, and he needed it to stop. He couldn't afford Hope. It had been very bad when it had been crushed the four or five times previous, when he was younger.

He hadn't hoped in a long time, but he recognized the warning sign immediately. The balloon in his head was small and white, but it had plastic walls sturdy enough that Logic wasn't having any luck in bursting.

It was with a sigh that Harry got up and took out his razor. He just needed to pop the balloon, and everything would go back to normal.

He changed into his spare clothes so he wouldn't get his uniform dirty. Well, more dirty than it already was.

He hoped that being a Sunday and in the middle of the afternoon, none of the boys in his corridor would come to the bathroom. He turned on the shower cold and stood under the spray for a while, clothes and all, the immense sleeves of his shirt pulled up over his elbows.

The first cut was only pain, but he felt Hope straining a little. He kept adding little snips until the dangerous balloon was satisfyingly deflated and then leaned back against the shower wall, letting the blood turn the water pink at his feet.

He thought he heard the bathroom door open at one point, but no sound came after that, so he relaxed back and thought nothing of it.

He waited for his mind to enter that particular numbness that he needed now to forget about the morning's events.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8.**

Draco looked up as Theo entered the common. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had decided to kick back and laze around this weekend and not go to town. They nodded at each other as the black haired passed and went to his room. He was back a couple seconds later.

"Draco, something's wrong with Potter" Theo said, his tone more urgent than he had ever heard it.

"What?" Draco, sitting on one of the armchairs, frowned. They had just split up not ten minutes ago. How could something be wrong?

"In the bathroom, move!" that tone had him jump out of his chair.

"Be more vague, won't you?" Draco muttered darkly as he passed him. To his annoyance the other boy remained in the common room.

"Potter?" Draco called once he had entered the shared bathroom. He looked around, hearing only the sound of a shower going. What the hell was he doing here? He was going to kill Nott. There was absolutely _no_ reason for this drama. And what was he anyway, Potter's mother?

He walked to the closed shower stalls, looking down to see which one was occupied.

Water with an odd shade of pink caught his attention.

"Potter? Is everything alright?" he asked, right in front of the occupied stall. That's when the water shut off and feet squelching on the wet floor could be heard.

"I'm...I'm fine." came the answer, barely audible.

Draco was about to say _fuck this_ and go back to his reading, but the fact that the floor inside the shower – which was the only thing he could see with the curtain closed, together with Potter's skinny feet and ankles – wasn't just damp with pink water any more, but drops that looked more red kept dripping down, made him hesitate.

"Are you coming out anytime soon, Scarhead?" Draco called, fighting to keep the apprehension to himself and sound normal.

"It's fine, Malfoy" Potter said softly, yet seconds ticked by and he didn't move from there.

Draco thought _fuck this for real_ and he pulled the curtain open.

His mouth dropped and his head went completely empty for a second.

Potter was wearing those baggy, ridiculously enormous clothes he had seen the other day, completely drenched of course, and was holding his bare arms to his chest, pulse facing in. That did not mean Draco couldn't see the razor blade in his hand, and the bright, red stains on his so-called shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he mumbled. Not his most tactful moment, but when he had considered how badly Potter was messed up, he had never entertained the idea of... this. Was this cutting? Had he been _actually_ cutting himself?

"It's fine-" the soft voice snapped him out of his shock.

"It's not fucking _fine,_ you...idiot. Come out of there!" he ordered, spinning to gather as many tissue papers he could from the pile near the sinks. He advanced towards Potter, showing perhaps a little more heat than he should have, because the pale boy saw him approaching and held his arms even closer to himself, taking fearful steps back.

"Come Potter. We have to stop the bleeding." he tried to get himself under control as he pulled on one of Potter's arms and, when it relaxed and came away from his torso, pressed the tissues onto the cuts. He really did not want to see, the sight of blood had always made him queasy, but he couldn't help his gaze from resting on all the even, and not so even, white and red scars on Harry's arm.

Draco went back for more tissues and applied them to the other arm, which had been equally abused.

All the while, he was aware of Potter's soaking, trembling form in front of him. He did not speak, and he barely breathed.

Draco was near having an aneurism. He was too young and a too... I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck-about-anyone-but-me type of person. He was _not_ ready nor suited to deal with this kind of shite. Potter was not stable. He _wasn't_ going to deal with this. Any of this. No self-respecting Slytherin would. _Theo_ had very smartly _not_ involved himself in this. The arsehole.

He could – and _should_ –turn around and never look back.

Draco lifted his head to snarl some insult and walk away... wide, scared eyes speared his chest and pulled at his insides. _Fuck._

"Come, this has to be bandaged properly." he said stiffly. He held Potter by the hand and dragged him to his room. He just _knew_ that if he turned even for a second, the boy would bolt and it'd take hours to find him again. The school had way too many bathrooms where he could hide.

Potter's hand was freezing and unresponsive.

He kept the grip on his hand as he took out the first-aid kit, led him to his bed and had him sit down.

He was extremely careful in rubbing a special cream that helped repair tissue – which his Godfather had given him – on the cuts and then applied the bandages tight.

Potter made to protest weakly.

"You want to bring this to Madam Pomfrey?" Draco snapped and Potter visibly shuddered and lowered his eyes. He was mangling his lower lip.

"Stop that," Draco ordered him, more gently, reaching to free the abused lip and ignoring the flinch. Although, from the way he was trembling, it was heard to tell.

"Come." He pulled Potter – by the hand – to his own room to get dry and dressed into his uniform or something.

While he did, to give him privacy he went back to the common room with the clear intent to bite off someone's head. Since Potter was not sane enough to take it, Draco had to take it out on someone else.

"What. The. Fuck. Theo." he hissed, probably spitting, into the curly boy's ear.

"Everything good?" was the unconcerned question coming from his black haired 'friend'.

"Why the fuck did you call _me_ and not handled it yourself? Or called a teacher?"

"Why didn't _you_ call a teacher?" was the smartarse reply. Draco very nearly pulled his hair. But he was in public. The common room, even if not very crowded, was crowded enough. He was a Malfoy, and had to regain his composure. He breathed deeply and stared down at Theo.

"I'm just cashing in that favour you asked for the other day" Theo said very calmly before Draco could hiss anything else. At that there wasn't much Draco could say. He himself would have done exactly the same after all. Getting mixed up in shite was something Slytherins avoided at all costs. That begged the question of _why_ Draco was letting himself get involved in this. He told himself he was in too much shock to answer that right then. So he _humphed_ unimpressed at Theo's serene mask, turned his heel and went back to Potter's room.

The boy was sitting on the bed, uniform shirt and trousers on and buttoned.

"I'm sorry I caused you trouble."

They were the first murmured words out of Harry's mouth. Draco wanted to snort and snap that _yes, he had been a fucking_ big _trouble_ but he bit hard on his lip and sighed, going to sit at the desk's chair, in front of Potter.

"Whatever Potter, just don't be so stupid as to do it again." he said, his tone sounded tired. That was probably his adrenaline rush fading.

"I can do anything you want." Potter whispered lifting his eyes for just a second before going back to his nervous fingers.

Draco's heart thumped uncomfortably. What was going through that head? What did he think Draco wanted from him?

"I really don't want anything from you," he told him. Potter looked agitated at that answer.

"Then why did you do it, if I can't pay you back?" Draco had to lean in to catch everything. He wanted to groan and just leave. The kid was too messed up for his own good.

"I couldn't very well leave you there bleeding, could I?" since he didn't react to that, he scanned his brain for something else to add.

"We're Slytherins. We help each other regardless of our personal likes and dislikes, I told you this already." _Ah. As if._ Draco waited for those eyes to flick up again. He got frustrated when they didn't.

"But if you really want to do something for me, come watch Slytherin's soccer practice on Tuesday." now, where did that come from? Why the hell was he making a bed he had no intention of lying in? Hadn't he subconsciously decided to run away from this while he still could?

Huge, impossibly green eyes looked at him, and Draco was ready to press the issue if Potter refused.

A hesitant nod confirmed that he _would_ come. Draco relaxed in his chair.

"Good. Then don't do anything stupid until then, if you can manage. I'm not helping your sorry arse a third time." and with that he left.

"Go fucking read in your room and don't let him out of your sight." he hissed at Theo, who rolled his eyes but did as he had been told.

* * *

Harry ignored Theo as he sat on his bed, and the other did the same.

He should be studying or something, but keeping up with Malfoy was a feat. What did he really want from him? Was he going to drag him around the pitch with his face in the mud for a little fun? Why else would he have told him to go to the soccer practice Tuesday?

He had to go down to dinner, though it was really the last thing he felt like doing.

He didn't eat anything, his stomach almost throwing itself up if it meant he wouldn't be shoving down any solid substance. He drank water and tried a little juice for the sugar-calories. His arms ached in constant reminder of how massively he had fucked up and miscalculated that afternoon. It was clear Sunday was _not_ a day when he could do that. Last time had been a Saturday. From now on, he would stick with Saturday, and endure as much as he could the rest of the time.

Monday was brutal, as usual. Chemistry was oddly smooth, and History was as boring as always, but Harry took notes carefully and diligently to keep his mind occupied and trained on something safe.

But then came Math and Harry remembered the test they had done on Friday. He was sure he had gotten just too many answers right, because Vector kept calling on him to answer questions.

After lunch he had detention with Snape.

After his completely out of character actions on Saturday, he had no idea what to expect anymore, and that terrified him more than anything. How was he supposed to act, what was he supposed to say, if the professor did not follow canon? Harry did not like going blind and therefore took extra care in adjusting his appearance – after fifteen minutes of working on his tie, he had given it up as a lost cause – and knocking on the door a little early.

Snape was already there, scribbling away on a stack of papers. There were two piles of them on the teacher's desk.

"Good, Potter, you're here." he said, getting up, lifting one of the two towers of paper, and placing it on the desk right in the front row.

"You will be correcting first year essays this week. I'm hoping as a fifth year you have enough knowledge of grammar and syntax structure and basic Chemistry to handle this elementary task." he said, before going back to his own marking.

Harry was utterly taken aback, but he sat and got started without a word.

Eleven and twelve year olds had absolutely abysmal writing skills and _calligraphy_ was not a word he'd use for some of the more… artful handwritings, but he tried to interpret with a little imagination what he could, and closed an eye on those syntactic structures which were dubious but passable.

He did not exactly enjoy the work, it gave him a pretty bad headache, but it was something he had never done before, and therefore, kind of interesting.

After the hated P.E., where professor Tonks – who was so hyperactive and clumsy it was hard imagining how she got a teaching degree in Physical Education – finally understood what kind of cluz and physically inept Harry was, and kept him out of most games and exercises, there was Latin.

Flitwick, the only professor who mostly ignored him in class, kept him after the lesson.

"There will be a test on Thursday, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded.

"I'll be looking for progress and I will grade you on it. I don't expect you to be able to complete all of it, but Mr. Malfoy tells me you're catching up, and that is what's important."

"Yes, sir."

"I still expect you to do your best." another nod and he was dismissed.

After dinner, where he found himself listening to Malfoy and his friends as they chatted about inane but amusing things, while they ate, it was time for tutoring.

To tell the truth, he was unsure on how to act around Draco now. He was just so unpredictable and his words and tone did not seem to match his thoughts or – worse – his actions, just like with Snape. It was damn right annoying and it made it hard to figure out what he wanted Harry to say or do.

He sat next to him in the Slytherin common room, an open Latin grammar in front of them, and Cicero's third oration in front of Harry.

Their arms often brushed, and Draco had this weird thing were he didn't really sit still, but jingled his right leg while he waited for Harry to write or answer a question, but he stilled it when he was explaining something.

Harry wasn't sure why, but whenever they were studying together, it was like he was another person. He felt probably how a _normal_ person did, no stray thoughts crowding his mind, no crazy paranoia. He just did his work, following Draco's instructions and suggestions and he felt this peculiar _connection_ to the other, as if they were sharing something like...like...like... _friends,_ almost. Whatever that felt like.

"You're doing well in Latin." he said, towards the end of their tutoring time. And that broke the out-of-body experience. The words reminded him of not too long ago, the fistfight they had gotten into, the rage during which Malfoy had uttered similar, more accusing words.

Harry said nothing at the praise-like words, and kept gathering his books.

"Practice tomorrow is at a quarter past seven. Be there." Draco reminded him. As if Harry could forget.

He nodded and they parted, each to their own room.

* * *

It had rained all night, and the morning was extremely damp. The ground dried a little with the noon sun, but as Harry made his way down to the soccer pitch, he eyed the mud as if it had personally offended him.

The Slytherin team was already warming up when he got there. Draco spotted him immediately, sent him a sneering smirk, and nodded with his head to the stands.

Harry settled on the second row, huddling into his Slytherin scarf – Hermione had bought it for him as a late welcome present. Girls were very odd – and trying not to let his hands freeze.

He watched as Draco, in pure, unwatered-down Malfoy style, ordered the team around for laps and various exercises before he divided them into small groups for mock-matches.

Most of the team was made up of seniors and juniors, with the odd sophomore and more than five fourth-years who were probably reserves – or so Hermione had said.

Harry had come prepared, – thanks to his naïve question to the Gryffindor girl that morning – his mind filled with notions on English soccer from its very first origins. During study time Harry had mentioned Draco's request and Hermione had stated she did not like the sport, and it had gone downhill from there. She had explained how she had been curious at the start, because of Hogwarts' ancient upheld tradition and devotion to it. She had done _a little_ research on it in the past years, and she had seen fit to tell it all to him in between Chemistry and Literature.

Practice lasted roughly two hours, after which Harry's arse had completely frozen off, and his breath came in shudders.

He got to his feet – on legs he couldn't feel anymore – and made his way down when Draco motioned him with a hand. He walked warily beside the rest of the team, who was heading to the showers in the opposite direction.

"You did come." greeted Malfoy. Harry looked away, not really wanting to admit that Draco hadn't left him much of a choice. If he wasn't going to come out and ask downright for payment for going completely mad over that little thing on Sunday, then Harry was going to have to figure out what he wanted in this more indirect way.

"Have you ever played?" Draco asked, holding out the muddy ball.

"No." Harry mumbled, awkward.

"Well? Have you watched how the others played? Want to give a go to a little one on one?" Draco was smirking as he let the ball drop to the ground, stopping it expertly with his foot.

Harry did not like competing, and he wasn't a fan of sports either.

"Okay." he mumbled, taking off his scarf and folding it carefully, then taking a few steps back facing Malfoy.

"Alright. Try and get the ball from me while I'll be trying to get past you and score." Harry nodded his understanding, shivering in the cold biting air of the late afternoon.

It was obvious Draco was going easy on him, and still Harry didn't get the ball once. They switched, and Harry soon realized dribbling was harder than Draco had made it look. He just couldn't take his eyes off Draco's movements, and therefore could look very little at the ball, which at first did not obey his feet in the least.

As they kept switching though, Harry got the hang of it. It got progressively easier predicting what Draco would do, and somehow, at one point, Harry got the ball from him. He was so shocked and afraid Draco would get angry that he froze, wide eyes waiting for Draco to react.

But the blond merely took advantage of his still limbs to kick the ball away from him. Then he laughed.

"Potter, once you get the ball, you need to turn around and shoot." he sneered.

The next time Harry found the ball between his feet somehow, he didn't freeze up, he turned and headed for the goal. Draco tricked the ball away from him again, then chuckled at Harry's disappointed expression. That short, simple sound made Harry smile too.

He didn't know how long they played but after a while, they were both holding themselves on their knees. Draco was probably tired after his two hour practice, and Harry had simple crap resistance. He hated the thought of ending their game though.

"Come on, Potter. It's almost curfew." at Harry's dubious glance he amended, "Well it's not, but it takes me an hour to get presentable again, so we need to head back." Draco said, picking up the ball and heading for the locker room. Harry didn't know whether to follow him or go back to the dorms. He wasn't on the team after all, he didn't really have any right to the showers down here.

"Where the hell are you going, Potter? Showers are this way." Draco called him, and so Harry turned and followed him.

He hadn't thought of bringing any spare clothes – the last thing he would have _ever_ thought was Draco getting him to play soccer, of all things – so he didn't have anything to change into.

"I have a spare towel and shirt here, but you'll have to use those same trousers." Draco almost read his mind. He threw him a pristine white shirt and a green cotton towel before undressing right there and heading into a shower. Harry blushed for no reason, looked around for somewhere he could change in private, found none and dismayed.

He walked a little parts away from the showers, made sure Draco was busy washing his hair with his eyes closed, and then took his clothes off and covered with the towel. He then skipped to the shower farthest from Malfoy's and turned the water on cold. He washed as quickly as he could, shut off the water, dried himself and started putting his borrowed – and what was up with _that? –_ shirt and dirty trousers.

He then rubbed his hair with the towel and folded it neatly, holding it under one arm to bring up and get it to a washing machine. He had sullied it of course, and he still couldn't believe Draco had purposefully lent _him_ a shirt and a towel. He would probably burn them when he gave them back, and that was such a waste. He had never had a towel so soft.

"You've finished already?" Draco stepped out of the shower with a similar green towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping down his hair and chest. Tiny drops of water like diamonds on his long lashes.

"Yeah..." Harry said nervously, and stood by, not knowing what to do, as Draco took his time patting himself dry and dressing, putting on his tie and everything, straightening his perfectly ironed shirt three times and then blow-drying his hair. Combing it, applying hair gel or whatever the stuff was, until – _finally –_ he was done.

"Let's go then." he drawled, and led them back to the dorms.

Harry slept through the night without waking once.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9.**

Harry had been dreading this day for a while. Hermione had started panicking, saying that it had been a month already, and Snape hadn't given any pop quiz yet. She had started revising frantically on Monday.

She had passed on the anxiety to Harry, which was not a good thing, and not what a study mate – he had decided he and Hermione could be called that – should do.

As it was, Hermione had been near psychic. The pop quiz arrived on Wednesday morning, first thing of the day.

It was clear the whole class wanted to groan but didn't have the guts to do it with Snape there, so instead, a heavy silence descended as the professor barked out instructions, threatened anyone who was dreaming of cheating, and gave out the tests.

Harry did his best, and really hoped Snape would be pleased. Then he pulled at his hair for letting such a though slip. As if he could ever make Snape pleased.

It was apparently one of those days.

Vector gave back tests they had done on Monday, and Harry smiled inwardly at his big C.

Draco, a little to his right, was staring with narrowed eyes at him. Harry frowned, worried he'd somehow managed to get a higher mark than him, but his rapidly accelerating heart calmed down when he saw the red A on his paper. Why the staring then?

After lunch was detention with Snape.

As he had hoped, the dark professor left him with another pile of first-year assignments to go through, and that was that for the day.

Afternoon classes passed in a blur, and then there was Latin tutoring, which had become more a thing where both of them did Latin homework, and then Draco checked Harry's work.

Of course Harry couldn't have more than one day of some form of normality, because Thursday had to balance the fact that Wednesday had run smoothly.

There was that Latin test Flitwick had warned him about. That didn't go too badly, in Harry's opinion, although it was quite hard to judge how many mistakes he had to make in order to get his desired grade, because Latin, like English, was so subjective. The real problem though, had come with his Thursday-remedial-Chemistry lessons after lunch.

Snape had corrected his pop quiz.

Harry knocked and waited for permission as usual. When he went in, Snape was leaning in front of the teacher's desk, in a pose that Harry had learned to recognize and had labelled 'not happy'. And a not happy Snape was an angry Snape. Harry couldn't help thinking of all the panic and almost-panic attacks he had gotten because Snape was in a mood.

It was no wonder his palms started to sweat, and his voice slowly dried in his throat.

As he sat at his usual desk, right in front of Snape's big nose, Harry looked down at the single paper there. It was his pop quiz. The grade was in red pen, and it took up most of the top of the page. _C_. Of course it was a C. It was exactly what he had been aiming for. Low but not a fail. His Aunt would be giving him pursed lips and two pieces of toast.

He looked up at Snape, uncomprehendingly, and blinked.

"Do you suffer from a kind of memory deficiency, Mr Potter?" Snape asked. He wasn't using his soft, terrifying voice, he was using his normal tenor.

"No sir." Harry mumbled, forcing the muscles of his back to relax.

"Then you have not forgotten our little discussion on what is expected of you as a member of Slytherin House, am I correct?"

Harry shook his head but did not understand. True, he hadn't taken into account the fact that Snape was a little low on marks, and tended to take away all he could. He should therefore, answer one or two questions more next time, but it was still a C. It was average. It was a perfectly normal grade. What more did he want from him?

"You can re-do the whole test, Potter. And you will keep re-doing it until there isn't a single coma out of place." he said. Snape left a new, blank test on his desk, took away the old one, and sat in his own chair, arms crossed, staring at him.

He stared. And stared. And...

Harry swallowed feeling those unmoving black eyes on him, and picked up a pen with trembling fingers.

Why did Snape want him to do the whole test correctly? What was the point? What did he want to see?

Harry really tried, but his hand just wouldn't write the last answer. He just couldn't do it. He was going to get a B plus as it was. If his relatives ever came to know, they were going to make his ears ring for days.

He stood up on shaky legs, Snape's eyes never having moved from staring at his head. He had felt it, and it had made him write in a handwriting that was even worse than usual. He really hoped Snape wouldn't blame him for that. Which was a really stupid thing to hope, because of course he would.

"I'm finished, sir" he said.

"You left the last question blank." was the cold reply.

"I-I don't know the answer to that, sir." Harry said, looking down.

Snape's eyes tightened, he made a non-committal noise and took the test.

"Go." he said, and Harry could still feel his eyes on him as he gathered his stuff and left.

* * *

Draco did not like Friday mornings. Fridays, in his opinion, were worse than Mondays.

He was tired, he had had a very intense week, and he did not want to get out of bed.

"We have to get up," Blaise mumbled in his hair. Clearly, Blaise agreed with him in staying in bed until _next_ Monday.

"Mmmh"

Blaise nuzzled his neck before yawning and rolling away from him.

Draco grumbled, gripping the covers to himself.

Then they were gone, and Draco's eyes flew open and glared at Zabini's naked body.

"Fuck you." he said, turning on his stomach and hiding his head under the pillow.

"I seem to remember someone else doing the fucking last night." warm breath chased chills up his spine and then a warmer body pressed on top of him. Draco hummed, rocking back into Blaise's morning wood.

"We should do that more often, by the way. Fucking girls has been good practice for you, apparently." Draco smirked and then gasped as the other boy bit down into his shoulder, one hand palming his butt cheek.

"Maybe we could find some time right now for even more practice." Draco could feel the anticipatory smirk in that voice. A finger was already inside him, and really, another shag sounded like the perfect way to brighten up what was surely going to be a stressful and depressing day.

Draco's moan was assent to Blaise's proposal, and they ended up skipping breakfast.

They met up with their classmates on their way to Chemistry, and after first period they rushed to the kitchens to eat. The Malfoy name was pretty handy in getting school staff do to whatever he wanted.

Draco didn't expect Potter to go to lunch with them, still he debated whether to force him to come anyway. In the end he had decided he _would_ be dragging him with them, if not for the fact that the boy rushed from Math faster than Draco could catch him.

He saw him again in Lit, and he looked pale. Paler than usual. Green eyes intent on the board looked bright.

Draco kept an eye on him as they went to P.E., watched as he locked himself in the bathroom to change, as usual.

Interesting happened in Latin though. Flitwick was the only professor – sometimes Snape, but only when he was looking forward to failing a lot of students – who always corrected tests for the next day. He probably stayed up all night to do that.

Draco wasn't surprised at his A+, didn't even pick up the test to look it over. He did glance at Potter, who in this class sat in front of him.

C.

How in the world did he get only that? Draco's jaw ticked. He could have done so much better!

It wasn't that he was concerned for Potter, he honestly couldn't give a damn. What that low grade _did_ do though, was reflect on his teaching skills. It reflected badly on _him._ Flitwick would see only that Draco was incapable of tutoring Potter, and he might even assign him to someone else.

"What the hell is this? You still get nervous on tests? What kind of pussy are you?" he hissed in Potter's ear. The black head turned slightly, eyes lowering and that familiar wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

"It's an average mark." he said softly, defensively. His shoulders had come up and were pulled in, as if to shield him from Draco's venom.

"My point exactly. I do not waste my time to tutor average students, Potter."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Draco was losing his patience. A little logic voice, in the back of his mind, showed him yesterday, Trig. He had gotten the exact same mark. He didn't know why, but something felt wrong about this.

"Start working on improving that mark, Potter, I'm not going to put up with you forever." he grumbled as they left class.

It was a good thing it was Friday. He hated the day but for his evening meeting with his Godfather.

"Draco" Severus acknowledged him with a nod. He was already sitting down with a cup of steaming tea in front of him.

"How has the week gone?" he asked. Green eyes and muddy grass flashed through his mind at that question. Panic and blood.

"I can't say it's been boring." he eventually drawled. His Uncle raised a curious eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate.

"Have you spoken to Dumbledore?" he asked instead.

"I wrote to him. I'm expecting a reply within next week"

Draco poured himself tea and pondered what he was going to tell his Uncle.

"I couldn't help noticing your... dedication... to Potter's case." Severus said, dark amusement in his tone Draco did not take well.

"Theodore has very clearly washed his hands of him, and none of the other guys have noticed anything. It's not like I can just abandon him to himself" he snapped.

"Is there any news then, that you'd like to share?"

Draco hesitated. For some reason, he was reluctant to tell him Harry's secret.

"I think there is something very weird going on when it comes to marks. He got a C in Latin today, on what I was sure he'd get a B at the very least. I study with him, I know perfectly well what he can do." Draco was still bitter about that. The idiot was going to ruin his reputation with Flitwick.

"A C you say?"

"Mmh. In Trigonometry too. That's why I say it's weird. The only thing he does apart from going to class is study. How can he get such low marks?"

Snape adopted a very dark and pensive expression.

"I will find a way to talk to him about this. Anything else?"

Draco hesitated again, bit the inside of his cheek... then he shook his head with a shrug. If it happened again, then he'd tell him. If not, there was no reason to worry his Godfather more than he already was.

"Then I will ask you to do something for me. See if you can check his glasses. Be subtle."

"His glasses?"

"He squints at the black board often, and when he's looking around too, as if he can't see well at all. I just wonder when he went to an optician last."

* * *

 **A/N 1:** I admit, that last one is a bit of a cliche but... oh well :D

 **A/N 2:** The fact that nobody (except once) has pointed out any grammar/syntax mistakes yet is freaking me out a little. Not to brag, but I'm _positive_ I must have made some english mistakes, even if I usually go over each chapter three to four times. Since I'm still looking for a beta, if anyone notices a grammatical mistake or sentences that sound a little funny, POINT THEM OUT and I'll correct them immediately.

THANK YOU ALL!


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Harry was reading. He was reading but not really. He was more debating this internal dilemma that had come up these last three days.

First Draco, going completely barmy at his C in Latin. Then Snape had made him re-do the Chem quiz and on Friday during detention he had given the paper back, with an A minus on it. Then he had told him to get lost for the day and so he had done that.

Harry had stared at that paper for a long time. When he closed his eyes, he could still picture it. That blood red A. He honestly, for the life of him, could not understand what Snape wanted. What was he going to do now? What did he expect? Was Harry going to have to get straight As in Chem? Did Snape really want that? But what about his relatives? They were going to get a stroke. Not even in elementary school – after the first two, very naïve, times – had Harry ever dared get higher marks than Dudley. Which had been a very difficult quest at first, but he had gotten the hang of it. And now Snape wanted to upset that careful balance! And from what Draco said, he wanted that too. Although he could understand the latter better. He didn't want to waste time on a nobody like him, and the least Harry could do was get decent marks so that Flitwick could see what a good job Draco had done with him.

He could understand that, and he'd work on that. But Snape?

Harry was still reading in his room when Draco Malfoy barged in. Without knocking.

"You weren't at breakfast." he accused, as if that personally offended him.

"Ehm, no." was the clever response.

"It's Saturday. We get waffles on weekends." he said this as if that explained his outrage at Harry skipping breakfast. Which, he might add, he had done for the past month.

"Ehm..."

"Are you and Granger going to Hogsmeade today?" Draco was full of questions this fine morning. Harry did not particularly like questions.

"No, I don't-"

"You're coming with me then."

"Where?"

"To Hogsmeade. I fancy a butterbeer and that town is the only town in all of Britain that provides it."

"I don't...go to Hogsmeade." Harry said. Hoping against hope that he wouldn't take it personally, as Malfoy tended to do, and act more like Hermione and just let it rest.

"What do you mean by that?" _of course he wouldn't let it go._

"I just... I prefer staying here." _and not get killed._

"Are you actually refusing to come with me?" Draco looked stunned more than angry. Harry was starting to sweat buckets. There was, however, no way in Hell or Heaven Harry was going to explain Voldemort to him.

"It's just... complicated, please-"

"No, no. I get it. It's fine." and with that Malfoy turned on his heel and let himself out.

Harry felt a little empty at that, and a little at a loss.

He couldn't do anything about that though, because just that morning Theo had told him offhandedly he was remaining at the school this weekend. And Harry had no intention of a repeat of last Sunday. Although it was also probable Theo would just turn a blind eye, as he should. Draco had gone completely overboard for nothing.

Harry could admit in the privacy of his mind that the blond was a tad drama queen.

Draco did not speak to him for the entire weekend. And Harry hated to admit it, most of all to himself, but being so ignored by him gave him an ache in his chest.

Draco did not only not speak, he didn't even look at him.

On Monday, he sent a message through Theo to cancel their tutoring lesson, saying he had had a sudden thing come up.

The excuse was so glaringly pathetic – especially for a Slytherin – that it left Harry feeling hollow. He remained staring at nothing on his bed for a while with a blank mind. Harry would have wanted a little relief, but he was too afraid of getting caught again and being reported for being crazy. He could do nothing to take away the ache and bring his logic back into his head. It was one of his nightmares coming true. Draco – _Malfoy –_ had gotten bored. He had seen what a worthless, ungrateful creature Harry was and he was no longer interested in... whatever had first brought him to speak to Harry. He had even stopped giving him tutoring lessons. He was clearly done with him.

One a deeper, subconscious level he knew it was ridiculously selfish of him to want Draco back. Not only had he been expecting him to get bored and leave from day one, but, all in all, it was much better this way. There _was_ a serial psychopath after him, and recently that monster had resurfaced. It was safer for everybody this way.

Harry hated the stupid, useless tear that rolled into the stupidly soft mattress – he had gotten rid of the stupidly soft pillow his first night – that night. He drifted off into unconsciousness well into early morning only to gasp awake with the terror of a fading nightmare a few hours afterwards. He did not go to sleep again.

Tuesday morning was horrible. He felt like a zombie, absolutely brain dead, and he had to go to Chemistry and listen to Snape lecture in that melodic tenor which sounded more like a soothing rumble than actual words.

Malfoy hadn't glanced at him once.

"Stay behind a moment, Mr. Potter." that pulled him out of his funk. Harry waited with eyes on his desk as the other students filled out, Hermione throwing him a reassuring smile as she left him alone at their desk.

"I demand full attention from my students during lessons, Mr Potter." he started. Harry bowed his head in shame, nails biting into the tremble of his fists.

"I apologize, sir."

"If you are feeling unwell again, then either come to me, or pay a visit to the hospital wing."

"I'm fine, sir."

"That's what you said last time, with thirty-nine degrees of temperature." Snape replied. Harry was taken aback at the reminder, which was probably a nice why of telling him not to make a nuisance of himself again.

"I understand sir." he said, hoping he'd be let go now. Snape gave him a look before waving him away.

There was an indistinct form a little ahead of him, leaning on the wall.

As Harry got closer – it was on the way to History, impossible to avoid – the form acquired blond hair and a Slytherin uniform.

Harry stopped in his tracks, not wanting to be late but in _no_ way about to get in Malfoy's way.

"What did Snape want?" the question came unexpected and in the Malfoy demanding tone.

"Nothing" Harry inched forward, saw the blond wasn't about to pounce on him, and so walked a little more confidently.

"Then why did he make you stay behind?" Draco kept up pace with him.

"Said I look sick." Harry mumbled.

"You do look sick."

"Thanks." Harry couldn't help the smallest sarcasm. After three days of the silent treatment, he just came back? Just like that? Harry was going to die of some heart disease if Draco kept doing that.

"It wasn't a compliment." he quipped, "are you sure you're not sick?" Draco asked again.

"Didn't sleep well" he said it to get him off his back. Everyone was entitled to a bad night, weren't they?

"Mmh"

They arrived just in time for Binn's lecture.

"Shove off." Draco snapped, and the girl from Hufflepuff who usually sat next to him in History scrambled into the only other empty seat, next to Theo Nott.

Harry didn't have time to wonder _what the hell_ because Draco had taken the vacated sit and had started taking out his books. Next to him.

Harry was in a state of confused dizziness for the rest of the period.

He hadn't expected it, but Draco did the same in Math with another 'Puff, glaring at anyone who dared glare back at him for his switch. If Harry wasn't such a coward, he'd have asked him what was up with that.

"I expect you down at practice again today." Draco whispered – he managed to make a whisper sound demanding – during the lesson. At Harry's questioning look, he elaborated, "Tuesday. Soccer. Seven-thirty. Be in the stands."

Draco sat with Theodore as usual in Literature, leaving Hermione to sit and whisper appalled with him.

Apparently, Draco's weird actions weren't just weird to him. It had travelled the school like it was the latest gossip.

"What exactly does Malfoy want from you?" she asked him. They had to be careful because this was McGonagall's class. For Hermione to chat and not pay attention was an event.

 _I wish I knew_ was his mental answer. To her, he just pulled his shoulders up. It was just too odd. After three days of ignoring his existence _completely,_ to sitting beside him in classes? Draco went from one extreme to the other.

Harry had to be careful not to fall into that sense of peacefulness again. Once was enough. He needed to regain prospective and distance from Draco.

* * *

"You go ahead guys. Snape asked me to eat with him today," Draco told his friends as they rushed to lunch.

He left them and headed for the dungeons, knocking before entering his Uncle's private rooms.

"Draco."

"Have you heard from Dumbledore?" he didn't waste time. He had just realised they might decide to take Harry away from here. Maybe take him to a mental institution or something, or...

"Yes."

"And?" Draco was losing his patience. He needed to know. He just... what if Harry left? They'd never be able to keep in touch! The boy probably had no idea what a phone or an email address was!

The oddest, most dark expression crossed Severus' features, before he composed himself in his usual sneer.

"He downplayed it. Dumbledore said I am _exaggerating_ because of my ignorance of the circumstances, and my past is clouding my understanding of the real situation." his voice was so soft it was murderous. Dumbledore clearly had a death wish if he spoke to his Godfather in such way.

"So he won't do anything?" despite his earlier reservations, Draco frowned at that. That was just ridiculous, the boy _cut_ himself. It was very clear there _was_ something wrong.

"He claims there is no reason to do anything." Snape was even more outraged then Draco was.

"What now then?"

Severus didn't speak for the longest time, his lank hair obscuring his features as he looked down in thought.

"We'll do what we can. He has to trust us enough to tell us himself, and then we can file a charge for abuse and neglect."

"What do _I_ do?"

His Uncle got up from the armchair and started to pace. Draco observed silently as the man arranged the pencils and pens on his desk next, in careful and methodical order. He transferred his attention to the various piles of papers and ultimately straightened, his back to Draco. He obviously did not like the situation, and knowing his Godfather, he hated being forced to intervene in anything directly.

At last he turned around, his face a mask with a sneer.

"Try to get him to eat. A little at a time. Don't push too much if he refuses. And keep away people who could hurt him more." the sneer morphed into a smirk, "Smith, Thomas and Collins was neatly done, by the way."

Draco smirked widely back.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

With his new mission clearly defined, he got a hold of Potter and made sure he sat beside him at supper. Every time he served himself, he'd pass it to Potter. Predictably, he never took anything, but Draco watched, and took notes. He did drink juice, and now managed to finish a whole lump of bread and half a steak. It was more than he had ingested when he first came to the school.

"Potter, is Granger already here?" Draco asked at one point, pretending to look over at the loud and plebeian Gryffindor table.

When Harry stretched his neck to look too, he observed as his eyes squinted into slits in the effort.

"I don't think so." he said quietly after he had thoroughly searched. Draco hummed in reply, while he lifted his head and shared a look with Snape, over at the high table.

A few minutes later, Granger got up from where she had been seated at the far right end of her table, and made her way out of the Great Hall.

"Wear your spare clothes when you come down tonight, Potter. I'm not lending you a second shirt. And bring a towel too." Draco said as he got up to go change for soccer practice. He saw a little pink tinge Harry's cheeks as he mumbled his assent.

* * *

Routine was good. Harry lived for routine.

As Wednesday morning became Wednesday lunch, and Harry went to knock at the Chemistry classroom, he didn't feel that overwhelming anxiety which threatened a panic attack anymore. He had gotten used to Snape's way, and after three weeks of various detentions, he knew more or less what to expect of the man. Just keep your eyes down and be polite and he'd fare okay.

That was why it completely threw him when he saw Snape not leaning on his desk or sitting, but opening the door before he could even knock.

"Follow me, Potter," he said in his inscrutable tone, and Harry could only follow the smart _clack, clack_ of the professor's expensive shoes.

They turned a few corridors, climbed a couple of staircases, and arrived in a part of the school Harry hadn't been in yet.

He was getting a little tense, but knew better than to ask questions.

"In here Potter. Do avoid making a scene." Snape pushed open a door and Harry was momentarily blinded by the white.

Two big windows let sunlight in, and it reflected off all the white in the room. White tiles on the floor, white walls, white beds...

"Ah, Severus, right on time as usual," said a matronly-looking woman. Dressed in white.

This... was the Infirmary. _That,_ was a nurse.

Harry felt faint.

"Mr. Potter, a pleasure to meet you." said the nurse, and Harry took two steps back, despairing when he saw Snape was blocking the only way out.

"Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Potter is here for an eye check-up. It won't take long, I hope." Snape's voice arrived a little muffled to Harry's ears.

"Oh no, it won't take long at all. Now dear, come here and stand behind this line." the woman approached him – presumably to guide him behind whatever line – but Harry couldn't let her too close. She'd know, or want to prod him until she found out, and then Harry was going to be in so much trouble. Hot prickles ran up his back and reminded him of past punishments. He stepped back again, then still back, until he knocked into something that gave a low grunt.

Harry spun around, jumping away from Snape.

Oh God, he had just walked into him. He had just _stepped_ on Snape's shoe. He was going to get expelled and sent back to his relatives.

"Mr. Potter?" that was the nurse's voice. Concern. She sounded concerned. Oh no no.

Harry had two people to focus on and only one brain. As Snape took a menacing stride forward, probably to grasp him and hold him still while the nurse did all her little 'check ups' Harry stumbled back and felt his breath going crazy. Hyperventilating.

He wanted to groan.

 _Breathe, just breathe. Don't go into a full-out panic._

 _Breathe._

He wasn't aware of having closed his eyes and having backed up into a wall until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, his eyes opening, finding he couldn't go anywhere because Snape had cornered him.

"Potter, look at me." Snape ordered, and Harry had to obey that kind of tone. He looked up, into flat black eyes and he trembled. The hand on his shoulder gave the smallest squeeze.

"Poppy is just going to make you read single letters and then look into your eyes. Nothing more." Harry stared at his mouth as he said this. He didn't believe him. He was unpredictable, he didn't respect his plans, he didn't respect his word! He had _said_ he wouldn't take him to the Infirmary. And now he was with a nurse, who was going to start asking questions, and tell him to undress, and ask even more questions, and Snape was going to sneer down at him and she was going to call his relatives and-

"Potter." his name was accompanied by a firm squeeze of his shoulder that brought him back to the present, "It is just an eye-check. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." the big hand on his shoulder was warm. It was seeping warmth into his freezing body. How had he not noticed he was cold before?

"I don't want to be here" he pleaded Snape.

"If you don't want to do something Poppy asks of you, then you say so and we'll go back." his tone was soothing. His subconscious was reacting to it, relaxing, calming down his breathing and heartbeat.

He nodded and the hand on his shoulder disappeared. Cold gripped his body again but Harry ignored it, pushed away from the wall and stood, waiting for the nurse to say what she wanted him to do.

"Alright then. Come stand behind this line dear..." she sounded exactly as before, as if his pathetic mini-panic attack hadn't happened.

He raised his head enough to see where she was standing, seeing indeed a yellow line of faded tape on the ground, and joined her there.

"... and take off your glasses." As he stood behind the line and did what she said, she went to the opposite wall and turned on the light to a screen.

Harry could see there were hazy dots on the white panel.

"Can you read the letters on the first line to me, Mr Potter?" she asked.

He couldn't. He couldn't read a single thing, but those weren't letters, they were dots. He hesitate long enough that the matron worked with the panel a few seconds before asking the same question. The dots – which had gotten bigger – had morphed into blurry lines. He squinted, trying his hardest to make out what letters they were but he couldn't.

"Give me a second..." she said, fumbled with the panel again and suddenly the letters became bigger and Harry could see. His shoulders sagged in relief as he read the first line with relative ease.

The second line was a little harder, but not impossible.

The third line was impossible.

"That's good, thank you Mr Potter. Now just come over here a second..." she made him look into a strange machine. He did not like it one bit, she felt too close to his unprotected eyes, but he suffered through it in silence. He didn't really think Snape was going to take him out of here if he whinged.

It didn't last long though. Soon she was getting up from her own stool and walking to her small cluttered desk. She made a few notes and then gave the file to Snape, who had stood statue-like in front of the door.

"There you are, all finished dear. Come back if you ever need anything." the matron told him gently as he caught up with his professor.

 _Yeah right._ He thought in his head.

"So much for not making a scene, Potter." Snape muttered under his breath. Harry paled then blushed looking away.

"I'm sorry." he said, and he was. He shouldn't have doubted Snape, he had... well, he had helped him that time he had been sick, hadn't he? He had given him aspirin and _two_ days off, even though Harry had only taken one.

Still, he did not understand what all the fuss had been about. Why had she made him read letters? What did that mean? What had she given Snape?


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11.**

Blaise's bloody alarm went off and while Draco buried under the covers, he could still hear his roommate grunting and rolling in his bed, switching off the alarm and getting up.

Draco refused to.

He dozed for a while, until Blaise came over to _his_ side of the room and threw the curtains open, making sunlight spill right into Draco's face.

"Bastard" he muttered as he kicked back the covers and sat up.

"Hey! I thought you told me to wake you up so you could have a nice breakfast this morning!" _Harry._

Draco swung his legs to give him momentum to get up.

"Why all the rush? Are they serving croissants or something?" Blaise called, but Draco was already in the shower and trying to wash his hair thoroughly but speedily.

It took him only one hour to be completely ready, which, considering his usual two hours and ten minutes – he had a record for three and twenty-six minutes – was absolutely spectacular and deserving high praise.

The reason Draco needed to be ready for early breakfast, was because he wanted to have as much time as needed to feed Potter. He had figured that if one spent long enough sitting at a table doing nothing, they would eventually get bored and begin eating.

Draco knocked on Harry's room when he was ready, and was not surprised when Theo opened the door for him.

"Good morning." Draco said, surveying Theo and Harry's made beds. The first had been done almost as an afterthought, while it was clear Harry had spent a lot of time being extremely meticulous with it.

"'Morning." said Theo, and then he left. Draco stared after him then turned with a raised eyebrow towards Potter.

"Said he had to go to the library" Potter shrugged. He went back to making the strangest faces while he struggled with his tie.

Draco thought back to the disastrous knot he usually sported instead of a proper tie and – metaphorically, he wasn't actually going to ruin half an hour of diligent work – put his hands in his hair.

"Wait wait. Stop that, you're making me seasick." he said, approaching and motioning Potter's hands away.

"Watch what I do, and tomorrow you can try on your own," Draco said, going in slow motion as he twisted and looped the tie correctly. As his voice faded, his hands faltered for a second when they felt Harry's soft breath on them. Without needed to look at what he was doing – he had learned to put on a tie before he learned to tie his shoes, – Draco lifted his eyes to look at Harry. His green eyes were looking down at Draco's masterful fingers, and he had a thin frown of concentration that pulled his eyebrows together and that Draco had the weirdest impulse to kiss away.

Now, Draco was not one to repress and submit impulses, no matter the nature, when in private. As he leaned in a little, his hands finished the knot, Harry glanced up at him with the brightest eyes. They were the warmest green and Draco hesitated, caught off guard.

Their eyes met. Their breath mingled and joined between them.

Harry pulled away, looking down and smoothing his uniform needlessly. Draco remained still, observing him with narrowed eyes.

"Er, thank you." Harry said quietly, his eyes returning to the ground. Draco licked his lips to dispel the lingering itch, pushing it at the back of his mind. _Hardly the moment._

"You can thank me by coming with me to breakfast." he drawled instead, seizing the opportunity.

The boy didn't look too happy with that, but as predicted, he followed in silence.

The Great Hall wasn't even half-full so early in the morning, and they sat next to each other at a place of Draco's choosing.

He then proceeded to pour two glasses of orange juice, one for himself and one for Harry, he spooned three scrambled eggs for himself and one for Harry, he placed two white toasts on Harry's plate and four on his own.

Draco completely ignored, as if he were deaf, Harry's half-voiced protests.

"Eat." he said, and followed his own command. He did his best not to stare at him, forcing himself to make chit chat with the Greengrass sisters, who had seated themselves not far from them.

Harry drank the juice and nibbled on a toast. Draco persisted, saying bye to Daphne and Astoria and taking up a more friendly conversation with Pansy and Millie and serving himself some strong coffee.

When even they waved and got up, and Vince and Greg sat down, starting to pile their plates, and Blaise sat on the other side of him with a curious look, Draco just shrugged, poured more juice for Harry and himself, and started to talk to him.

He was in the middle of discussing his mother's favourite shopping district in Paris, comparing it to what Blaise had just told him of Mrs. Zabini, when he actually stopped talking to smirk madly.

Potter had given a great sigh and had shoved a single forkful of eggs in his mouth.

By the end of his conversation with Blaise, and the warning bell that signalled ten minutes to first period, Harry had eaten four bites of his scrambled eggs.

Draco got up leisurely, immediately copied by Harry and the others, and they all made their way to Chemistry. Draco worked on catching Harry's book bag and dragging him by his side every time he tried to gravitate to the back and abandon the tight group.

If Blaise noticed – which he probably did, considering he _was_ sorted into Slytherin – he said nothing, keeping up pleasant chatter all the way to Snape's classroom.

Draco found he rather liked sitting next to Potter in classes. He wasn't about to sit anywhere that homeless Granger sat, so he left her alone with Potter in Chemistry and Literature, but he had no qualms in taking other people's placed in those classes they didn't shared with Gryffindor to sit next to Harry.

For one, he kept annoying cheaters and tossers away from Harry. Secondly, Draco was conducting a silent experiment.

He had forced himself to ignore Harry Potter for a few days, to see if the boy would come running back to him. He had not, but that was not what had shook Draco's solid and structured mind. It was the fact that it had been difficult to stand by and let Theo, Severus and even that Granger interact with him when he couldn't.

 _He_ was the one who had a right to talk to him. He had a right to claim his attention and his time, and order him around. Who had given him that right, or the reason he had it, was still something Draco was figuring out, but the principle was there. And so he had taken Harry back for himself, and had been only too satisfied when the boy let him monopolize his time once again.

But all this wasn't news. _All_ of Draco's friends followed his lead if they wanted to hang out with him. It was the reason he and Theo, while being childhood acquaintances, weren't best mates.

But back to the epiphany. What had really boggled his mind was the fact that it wasn't just Draco monopolizing _Harry's_ time, it was also Harry, unwittingly for sure, monopolizing _Draco's_ time. His time, his thoughts, his actions...

Hadn't he been thinking about Potter, and only him, for the last two weeks? Hadn't he been spending all his time, and changing his schedule only so that Harry could best fit into it? Harry had taken so much space that Draco had even forgotten to worry and rage about his father's shite.

So where did all this lead to?

Draco put up the same facade for lunch as he had for breakfast, having had to literally catch Harry's book bag before he disappeared out Lit class and tow him to the Great Hall.

He was nervous during lunch though. His eyes kept darting around and he didn't even glance at the shepherd's pie Draco had placed in front of him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, turning away from Pansy who was talking _again_ about her next weekend in town.

"...nothing."

"Don't give me that crap, Potter. You're making my nerves jingle from your restlessness" Draco snapped. He regretted the harsh tone when Potter seemed to close in on himself, his shoulders coming protectively around him.

"...It's just... I don't want to be late... for detention" he whispered.

"Oh, don't worry about Snape. Eat something and I'll go down with you myself. He won't bother you then." Draco dismissed it as offhandedly as he could, and finished his own serving before pouring water for Harry and himself.

Harry did eat a mouthful of pie, and Draco, remembering what his Uncle had said about pushing, left it at that, getting up and going down with him to the Chemistry class.

"So what has he given you to do at detentions? I haven't heard you complain about scrubbing the floor or having to sterilize all the chemistry tools yet." Draco mused aloud.

"Um, lines at first. Last time... I had to correct first year essays," he said. Draco couldn't help the wide-eyed stare he gave him.

"Really? Well you've must have improved a lot for him to make you do that! He usually only trusts me for it." he said, pleased for some reason that Severus had recognized how really bright Harry was at school-work.

When no answer to his comment came, Draco looked over to see him with that deep frown of concentration on his face. Now he only felt the impulse to smooth it out with his thumb, but he held back because they had arrived at their destination.

Draco opened the door without bothering to knock, and gave a small smirk to his Godfather's surprised expression as he lifted his head to see both of them file in the room.

"Mr. Malfoy. Have you decided to join Mr. Potter for detention?" he asked.

"No sir. I was just dropping him off. Lunch ran a little late." he said. It hadn't really, it was just Potter who felt the need to be there thirty minutes early. It was a way to tell his Uncle that their plan was progressing.

* * *

Harry found dinner less boring than usual. It was the third time that day he was sitting in the Great Hall, beside Draco Malfoy no less.

He found he didn't mind listening to the Slytherins' conversations, analysing all their said and non-said gossip, subtle dig ins and hidden cards that were kept hidden no matter how skilful the other conversationalist was at drawing out hints.

When Draco appeared at their door again on Friday, Harry didn't mind following him to breakfast too much. Of course, before Draco ordered him to breakfast, he had eyed with critical eye the work on his tie, shaken his head with assorted mutters and had done it for him again.

Harry had been sure he had done a much better job of it than he usually did, but maybe it hadn't been up to Malfoy-standards yet.

On Saturday over breakfast Draco asked him to accompany him to Hogsmeade again.

Harry nearly knocked over his glass of juice in his panic. He hadn't wanted to refuse him and risk getting him cross again, or worse yet, decide Harry was boring after all and ignore him for good. At the same time, he just _couldn't_ set one foot out of Hogwarts' grounds.

His incipient panic attack must have been clearly visible because Draco put up his hands, palms forward in a sign of peace.

"It's okay. I get it, you don't feel like it, relax." when he had, Draco had passed him the butter – which Harry hadn't asked for, so he put it down in front of him – and went on, "It's a pity though. It's my mother's birthday this Sunday so I have to go today to buy her a present and tomorrow I'll be back home to celebrate." he looked very put out for a second, then, "I guess I'll see you Monday. Don't do anything stupid until I'm back." he said.

He had left not long after that.

That weekend had been bad, and if Hermione hadn't remained at school and dragged him with her to revise for the upcoming English test, he would probably have cut or something.

Monday though, turned out to be absolutely extra-ordinary.

Draco had cornered him to breakfast again, something about needed to tell him all about his weekend over some food, and so they had gone to the Great Hall, and Draco had filled both their plates with food, and Harry had shushed his protesting stomach – much the way Draco had shushed him the first times – and shoved down a bite of everything on his plate, which was just overflowing with sausages, bacon, eggs, black and white pudding and tomatoes.

Harry still hated with a passion going to lunch, because it cut through his free time before detention and therefore messed up his entire schedule, but he had found himself yet _again_ sitting at the Slytherin table because of some kind of blackmailing or excuse from Draco.

He eyed the slimy, gross thing on his plate without the slightest intention of even smelling it, and tried not to 'jiggle Draco's nerves' all the while the clock was ticking.

Later than ever Draco got up, and Harry could too. They walked together to the dungeons and Draco did his usual little quip at whatever Snape said, which Harry found every odd and cheeky on Draco's part. And very odd and out of character to accept on Snape's part. Harry sat at his usual desk once Draco was gone, and was just about ready to start marking when Snape cleared his throat and placed a rectangular package on Harry's desk.

"Open it." he told Harry at his questioning look. So he did, carefully.

Inside was a black eyeglasses case. At his silent question for permission, Snape nodded and Harry opened the case.

Inside were round, black-rimmed glasses. Very much like his own but also very much _new._

"Sir?" Harry asked, completely confused on why Snape was showing him this.

"Try them on." Snape's tone was starting to sound out of patience, so Harry hastily took off his own glasses and put Snape's ones on without thinking.

He had to blink and squint, and pull them off and on a couple of times until his eyes adjusted to the incredible _detail_ that the lens zoomed for him.

It was all so... just so... defined. So much _detail_ in _everything._ He could see traces of chalk on the black-board, he could see clearly all the labels on all the containers held behind the glass-cupboard.

He could see Snape. The way his lank hair was oily and stuck together in bigger and smaller chunks, and how he had almost no wrinkles or signs of age on his skin – he looked so _young_ – and the way his mouth was turned up just a little while he stared at him.

"I gather you see well enough now." Snape commented, and Harry thought he imagined the small trace of amusement in his tone.

Harry felt his cheeks warm up as he took the glasses off and placed them back on the table. The world around him became a magma of fuzzy shapes once again.

"Keep them on, Potter. I'll be taking these." and Snape reached out and took away his old glasses.

"I don't... understand sir..." Harry mumbled.

"The school saw fit to replace your glasses since they were too old."

"But how-"

"You can start your detention now." Snape cut him off, going back to his seat to read.

Once he got out of there, still miffed that his glasses had been replaced just like that, he was utterly mystified by what surrounded him. It was all just... so _much._ He was developing a migraine from sheer too much information bombarding his retinas and his brain.

He acted like a total idiot through the rest of the classes, looking at classmates he had never seen before.

During biology, where he sat next to Hermione, he must have drilled a hole through her head because he just couldn't stop looking at her face and her _hair._ Damn but it was fuzzy. And the curls had such an interest pattern to them that other hair didn't have. Harry spend all of biology comparing Hermione's hair to Pansy Parkinson's.

Draco kept looking at him strangely, and so were Vincent and Gregory. When Harry noticed _that_ , he stopped ogling at random stuff and focused on whatever lesson they were sitting in, and promised himself he'd ogle later.

It turned out, Latin tutoring that night was a great opportunity.

He had sat close to Draco before, but he had never really _seen_ him. He just couldn't believe how perfectly straight and uniformly blond his hair was – he had noticed that day that most people had various shades in their hair, but not Draco. He was white blond and just that – how pale and long his lashed were, how his skin was absolutely spotless and smooth. His eyes too... they were grey, but there were specks of ice blue in the iris, and the grey turned just the slightest brown closer to the pupil.

"What are you staring at, exactly?" it was only at those words that Harry blushed violently before paling and realizing he had been _staring_ at Draco. Looking at his eyes like a psycho.

"Sorry." he mumbled, trying to go back to Latin but having no idea what they had been doing at all.

"No really, Potter. You've been staring at people a lot today. At first I thought you had realised what kind of sinful, god-awful hair Granger has, but then you kept talking to her so I figured you had somehow repressed the shivers at the sight. Now however..."

"It's just that... Snape gave me these new glasses." Harry kept his eyes fixed on the table in embarrassment.

"And you see better now?" the quick connection shocked Harry but he nodded in answer and pretended to focus on reading to end the awkward conversation.

They had just gotten back to Latin when Zabini, passing by the common, altered his path to brush by Draco.

"You want to set our record for how many times I can fuck you brainless in one night?" Harry distinctively heard the whisper that had been probably meant just for Draco's ears.

"Only if tomorrow is my turn." Draco drawled back, a slow-spreading smirk on his lips.

"Done. Hurry up with your little project."

Harry was ready to just crawl under the table or merge with the floor. Turning back, Draco must have seen his bright blush because he arched an eyebrow in his aristocratic way.

"Do you have a problem with fags?" he drawled. Harry shook his head vehemently, willing the blood on his face to return to its rightful place.

"Good, 'cause I'm queer and Blaise is bisexual, in case you were wondering." Harry made a strangled non-committal noise, wishing he could explain it wasn't the sexual preference that had flustered him, it was the _direct_ and shameless way they had talked about the stuff.

"So which team to you bat for?"

"Uh?" Harry asked, still not fully back.

"Do you like boys or girls, Potter?" he asked with a huff as if Harry was slow. Harry had never talked about this stuff, never even though much about it, of course he was slow!

"I...I don't know." he said finally. Draco raised him a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What do you mean you don't know? You're a sixteen year old male."

"Never really thought about it."

"It's not something you _think_ about, it's something you...feel." Draco enunciated, then, "Jesus that sounded girly." he muttered to himself.

"I have never _felt_ anything before, then." Harry rolled his eyes and tried for the umpteenth time to finish translating that second-last sentence.

Warm fingers grabbed his chin and turned it around to face Draco.

Their faces were very close, only a few inches of mingled breath separating them.

"It's really simple knowing whether you like cock or pussy." he breathed. So close. Too close.

"When you're in the shower, do you picture a boy or a girl on their knees, sucking your cock?" a flash of an image went through Harry's brain but he did not try to grasp it back. Draco had let go of him and was standing up abruptly.

"I think you're good enough now to do that homework on your own. It seems I have an date with a certain roommate." and he left.

After that very, very uncomfortable talk, Harry couldn't stop that flash in his mind coming back and becoming clearer and cleared.

That night, in his bed, Harry Potter dreamed of Draco Malfoy.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12.**

One month passed by.

Harry had never in his life had a friend. There had been a boy named Philip in second grade who had taken an interest in Harry, but he had been driven away fairly quickly by Dudley.

There had been a girl who had talked to him a grand total of five times in sixth grade, but she too had been reduced to tears by Dudley and his gang, and she hadn't come back.

Hermione was great, someone Harry spent study time and class time with, but she had her own interests – the library – and she was in Gryffindor. Hogwarts made inter-house friendships very hard to maintain, let alone strengthen up.

Draco on the other hand, was a Slytherin. He had many different interests he sometimes included Harry in – like soccer. For some strange reason, Draco liked it when Harry came to watch practises and matches – and he was just... always there, ready to put the fear of god into whoever tried to bother Harry.

Of course, this was Draco Malfoy. Something had to be said about the advantages of being the friend of the bully for once.

And yet, every time that word – friend – crossed his mind, Harry shuddered away from it. Friendship was such a dangerous concept. It implied _trust_ and _caring_ about the other _._ Not something Harry felt he was ready for. Not something he though _Draco_ could honestly feel for him. He still had trouble understanding why the blond aristocrat spent any time with him at all.

October passed in pretty much complete normality, as much as that word could be applied to Harry. He finished his detentions with Snape, and managed to not get any more.

He learned to answer all the questions on chemistry and Latin tests, so that both the professor and Draco would feel gratified and leave him alone about it, and he spent so much time at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall the bench had probably taken the shape of his butt.

It was nearing the 31st of October, which was going to be on Friday. By Monday, the whole school was awake with whispers and plans for the night and the following weekend, starting bets on how many sweets they would be able to eat in one night and how much sugar they would receive from relatives and friends.

Harry couldn't help noticing that, while everyone seemed to become more lively with the buzz of the upcoming celebration, a certain someone was slowly becoming darker and harsher by the day.

Severus Snape, apparently, did not like Halloween. He had noticed it when the professor gave them five hundred word essays to do, and assigned them researches to do on topics that were almost at the end of the textbook, and needed therefore a whole pre of explanations they had to figure out themselves.

"I hate Snape and Halloween too close to each other." Zabini grumbled one morning over breakfast.

"He goes totally raving mad. Every. Year." Parkinson agreed, shaking her head in wonder. They were lucky they were Slytherins. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were getting so many detentions, Snape probably had classes full of them, and the Chemistry classroom was spotless every day, with the constant scent of antiseptic and bleach giving Harry bad headaches.

"I'd really like to know why." Theo mused quietly as he ate.

"Probably got more tricks than treats when he was a child." Zabini's joke provoked loud snickering.

"Oh my God. Are you all picturing the same child-Snape I am?" Parkinson said, and that erupted more snickers.

"Cut it. We do not make fun of Snape." Draco snapped, and that silenced them. Harry cocked his head towards him in silent question. He had noticed Draco was always extremely respectful of Snape when among his friends, and he always acted the bootlicker when in class or confronted with Gryffindors... Ron Weasley especially. Harry had been wondering at their relationship for a while.

Personally, Harry had never celebrated Halloween. He remembered the heaps of treats and all manner of sugary edible things Dudley got every year from his parents and from the neighbours. When he had been younger he had rather liked the idea of dressing up more than the food, but suffice to say, he had never had the chance for either.

Now he was old, almost an adult, and he couldn't comprehend how his peers could still get this excited over sweets.

"It's not the _sweets,_ Potter." Draco explained to him over dinner. Most of the time, Draco would seat beside him and then would spend all of dinner placing little bites of food in his plate – Harry ignored most of this – and talking to him. In a voice loud enough just for him. When he had realized this, Harry had felt dangerously special for it.

As he often did, Draco had picked up on Harry's lack of enthusiasm for the subject of the conversation and had asked and prodded until Harry told him what the matter was. Namely, that he didn't understand all the fuss for something meant for ten year olds at most.

"It's the ghost stories and the party. All houses have their own tradition at Halloween, and Slytherin's is to hang in the common room and get drunk on sugar and alcohol, and then tell all the scary stories we can remember or come up with." Draco smirked at him, his eyes bright with anticipation. Whether for the drunk part or the storytelling part, Harry wasn't sure, but since he was going to be in bed and asleep for all intended purposes, he didn't bother investigating.

On Friday, Snape was positively murderous. He had written instructions on the board for a very complicated mixing and testing experiment, and did not utter a single word the whole lesson, glaring so darkly at whoever dared whisper that Harry trembled every time he saw it, thinking back to the day before, during remedial Chemistry, when Snape had left him reading five chapters and spent the whole lesson digging grooves with red ink on assignments and tests alike.

Apart from Chemistry and Literature, none of the other professors managed to hold the attention in class for very long, and soon they were all back in the commons 'getting dressed'. Draco had looked awfully disappointed when Harry didn't have anything to dress up in, and had refused Draco buying something for him on the last Hogsmeade trip.

As the party started, music being blasted in the common-room and bodies starting to sweat and cling together, Harry got a little sick.

He had lost Draco among the crowd – dressed as a 'British lord vampire', so he had _de facto_ dressed up very little, just adding fake teeth and a black and red cape to his usual formal attire – and with every sound of the bass Harry's head became a little more muffled and more cotton candy filled his brain.

He had experimented going back to his room, but the noise was as present as ever, and the stench of beer reached there too.

Using his bony elbows, he pushed his way out of the common and, though he knew it was after curfew, he went out and made his careful way to the Astronomy tower.

He needed fresh air, and altitude, and Zabini had told him teachers rarely patrolled during nights like these, busy having their own fun.

Of course there would be one teacher who had made it clear they did not have fun on Halloween. And with Harry's luck, they were standing right in the Astronomy tower.

Harry almost tripped on the last step as he saw the unmistakable tall, black shape looking out the window.

He held his breath and made to turn around and run back, but Snape must have heard him because he spun and his eyes widened.

"Potter." he whispered, and it was his emotionless whisper, that which held emotions Snape didn't want to let out. Harry had found the professor's soft inquisitive voice scarier but way better than the expressionless whisper.

Harry stood frozen, silent, with his eyes on the floor, waiting to be administered another detention. Or worse. Snape had been in such a mood, Harry was really prepared to be slammed into a wall for breaking school rules and disturbing him.

As more and more time passed, Harry's heart began beating overtime, and he felt the familiar rising wave of panic starting to crawl up from his stomach.

"What are you doing here?" and there was the soft tenor, inspiring the wave of panic and making it crest over organs and submerge his throat so he couldn't swallow anymore.

"Jus'...f-fresh air" Harry said with difficulty. It was hard talking without saliva.

"Not exactly a day to celebrate for you, is it?" Snape had turned back around, and Harry felt safe in looking up and actually studying Snape. He could see him in profile, his lank, oily hair worse than usual, his dark eyes anticipating deep bags under them, a lit candle was in his hand. It was on this out of place item Harry's eyes rested.

"Sir?" he asked, because he wasn't sure what the professor had been referring to exactly. The small flame on the tiny candlestick trembled with the night's biting breeze.

"Your parents." he said, and a small tone of impatience entered his voice. Harry widened his eyes, because very, very few people knew about the day his parents died, and he had not expected Snape to be one of them.

When no answer came from him, Snape turned around again, with an annoyed cut to his eyes Harry immediately picked up.

"Well, yes. Yeah." he mumbled. In truth, he had never considered it before. He knew his parents had brought it onto themselves, and while he hated Voldemort for having taken his family from him, he couldn't really _blame_ him. It was how they said, poke the lion but don't cry afterwards if it bites you. Or kills you, in this case.

"For someone with your last name, you do not sound like someone who recognizes the meaning of your parents death." Snape had raised his voice, and Harry could see how Pansy Parkinson had been right. There was a tired but mad light to Snape's eyes as they stared down, unblinking, at him.

"I am the explicit meaning of their death, sir. I'm the baby that was left orphaned." Harry muttered, for some reason warming up at Snape's implication of his uncaring. Of course he cared. His parents had dropped him off at his Aunt's house and then went on to look for Him, addressing the monster himself, taunting him and threatening him.

"You're the child that survived." _yes. I'm_ surviving _, aren't I? Lucky me._

"They made sure of that, yes." Harry was not sure how this was working. Him, slowly building up sixteen years of repressed anger at his parents, and Snape... what exactly _was_ Snape's place in all of this?

"You are an ungrateful brat. Your mother sacrificed her life for you, and you dare be _angry_ that she _died_?"

"She didn't sacrifice _anything_ for me!" Harry shouted.

He then paled and took a precautions step back, his eye frozen on the enraged professor.

"They hid you, they diverted the serial killer from you and organized a trap so the police could get to him. They died so that the monster could be captured and you'd be safe!"

"What?" Harry wasn't sure if he had actually given voice to the thought or if he had just mouthed the words.

Snape looked at him, long and hard, and he seemed to deflate, his anger evaporating. Harry was aware enough to be grateful for that, but numbness was setting into his brain. He just _knew_ this was a conversation he shouldn't have started. It was going to be painful, he could feel it.

"The police did manage to apprehend him, but he was wounded very badly, and they had lowered their guard. The Killer managed to escape, leaving behind ten dead agents."

"Why did you say... why... why did they have to divert his attention?"

"Because he had decided you were going to be his next victim. He had begun to mark you as one when your parents stopped him."

Harry's hand went to the scar on his forehead without thinking. The thin, puckered skin rough against his fingertip.

"No. That's not what happened." Harry said with force. He jerked his hand away from the scar, blinking away the burning at the corner of his eyes. "My parents didn't give a fuck about me. They abandoned me."

"Don't talk about your mother like that! She loved you and died for you!" Snape was mad again. Harry should have wondered how Snape knew all this so in detail but he was still reeling at the possibility of _this_ being the truth.

"No! That's not true!" Harry was _not_ going to cry in front of Snape. He was not going to break down.

"Potter-" Snape had taken a big step forward, and Harry just stumbled back to put safety distance between them again. He almost fell down the stairs for his trouble.

He turned and ran back down, ignoring the professor calling his name severely, ignoring the fact that this disrespectfulness could land him in another detention or worse yet, expulsion.

He ran and ran, until his legs were quivering so much he had to find a hidden place to curl up and break down.

Boy's loo on the fourth floor looked like a perfect place to him at that point.

He crumbled against a wall, and hid his face.

His mother had died for him. She had loved him. His father hadn't arrogantly and publicly taunted the monster, he had driven Him away from _him._

Could he believe it? Was he actually taking Snape's word for it?

His mother hadn't abandoned him the first chance she got, and his father hadn't been trying to get recruited by _Him,_ like his relatives had said.

They had been protecting him. They died for him.

They died _because_ of him.

No wonder Aunt Petunia couldn't stand to look at him. He had killed her sister. Or gotten her killed, it didn't really matter, did it? The result was the same. The awful guilt he felt was the same.

No wonder Snape hated him. He had evidently known his parents. His mother. Maybe they had been friends, and Harry had killed her.

He needed to cut. He needed to let his sin out.

Harry got up on shaky legs, held onto the walls as he walked until they were steady enough to support him and then he walked back to the common, numbness having finally and fully kicked in.

He scrambled between drunk and dancing people, thanking Hell he was scrawny and really had no trouble wiggling his way to the dorms.

He changed into his old clothes, got his razor, went under the shower, turned it on cold, let it soak him, dragged the blade against his skin once, twice, with a little more anger the third time, his arm started shaking, he tried to cut his left arm but his right was quivering too much, he leaned back against the wall and felt relief at the pain and at the warm liquid running down his freezing arm.

He was too numb to cry, and he hadn't been able to cry in a long time, but he thought blood was a good substitute for tears.

* * *

Draco hadn't noticed when Harry had first disappeared. He didn't know, therefore, how long he had been gone for, once he _did_ turn around and didn't see him next to him, as he had expected.

He asked people around him if they had seen him, but everyone was already a little too tipsy to notice if a waif with green eyes had passed by them.

Draco looked in the first, most obvious place, Harry's room. But he wasn't there.

The fact that Harry had disappeared dampened Draco's partying mood, and that got him extremely irritated.

He went back to the common, climbed on the long table to see from a height if he could spot Harry, who maybe had gotten lost among the packed bodies.

It was thanks to his advantage point that he saw the door to the commons open, and Harry walking in.

Draco immediately climbed down and tried to push his way to him, but someone's arm snaked around his torso and pulled him into a hard, flat chest and bulging cock.

"Come on Draco, let's have a little fun tonight."

"Go find some pussy, Blaise." Draco said distractedly, tugging on the black arm to be let go.

"Aw come on Draco, we haven't fucked in _weeks._ We haven't even kissed or blown each other. Come _on_ " he whinged in his ear, his breath stinking of whiskey.

"I've got something to do, maybe later." Draco told him clearly, pulling on his arm and getting free.

"You've been saying that for ages!"

Draco ignored him, knowing he was right but not having a better excuse.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good lay anymore, it was just that his attention had been all sucked by Harry. Harry needed _constant_ attention. He probably didn't know that, but if Draco wasn't there to drag him to meals, or to get some fresh air, or sent people to watch over him on weekends when he couldn't himself, Harry tended to go back to his old habits, and Draco was having none of it.

Plus, sleeping with Blaise had gotten a little boring. It wasn't hot anymore it wasn't as exciting. It was pure release of tension. It had always been only that really.

Draco moved slowly through the mass of people – some a little too young to be there – growling at those who didn't get out of his way fast enough, and finally made his way to the dormitories. He went to Harry's room, expecting to find him getting ready for bed.

It was empty. His school uniform – which he wore all the time but when he slept – was carefully folded on his chair.

Something curled and tightened in Draco's gut and he had this bad, very bad, feeling.

He hurried to the common bathroom and felt blood leave his face in a rush as he saw pink water under one stall.

He tore open the curtain without thinking, taking in the running water, the drenched Harry and the open cut on his arm all at once.

Draco seized his hand and pulled him out of there, the inaudible sound of protest from Harry only spiking his already increasingly rapid pulse.

"What...doing" Harry mumbled, his eyes opening slowly.

"You bastard." Draco muttered in reply, holding the boy to him since he clearly had no strength to walk, and bringing him to his room, lying him in his bed before taking his right arm gently and inspecting the still oozing wound.

He dug around his cupboard, found two towels and hurried to Harry's side, applying as much pressure as he could with one, and wrapping the other very tightly around the offended arm.

He remained silent as he kept the pressure on, checking the bleeding every few minutes.

Once he was satisfied that it had stopped, he leaned back a little.

"Why, Potter. Why did you do it?" he stared unblinking into glazed green eyes, his anger coming back to flush his face. God, he could have hit him hard if the boy hadn't looked already almost dead.

Harry flickered his eyes away and didn't answer.

Draco got up to get gauze and disinfectant.

" _Why_ , Harry?" he repeated as he treated the wound almost on automatic.

"I killed them." he murmured.

"Who?"

"My parents." Draco halted his movements before shaking his head and finishing up.

"Don't be ridiculous." He muttered. Admittedly, he didn't know much about the Potters' murder. The whole affair had been kept under absolute secrecy as if the wellbeing of the country had been at stake.

Draco stared in shock as twin tears fell from Harry's eyes. They rolled down and disappeared into the pillow.

"They died for me. I killed them." he whispered again.

"The two things aren't the same." Draco told him slowly, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. He didn't know _enough._ Why did Harry have to be so fragile? So utterly broken?

"Yes. It's why everyone hates me." Draco rolled his eyes. And then Snape called _him_ a drama queen.

"Don't be stupid Potter. Nobody hates you."

Harry's chin set stubbornly, like it did sometimes at meals, when Draco placed food in his plate he knew Harry wasn't going to eat but that he still hoped he would.

"I don't hate you." Draco said softly, rubbing away the wet streak left by the lonely tears.

"You don't know me." was the quiet reply. Draco felt insulted, until he was distracted by Harry gnawing at his lip. He did that when he was very upset, Draco had noticed.

He felt an itch in his head, stronger now that he had alcohol in his system. It was the same itch that had started making itself known in the past few weeks. When they were at dinner, after particularly good soccer practises, it was strongest when they were studying Latin.

Draco decided he really needed to scratch that itch.

He freed Harry's lower lip from his teeth, but did not pull away his hand. He caressed the abused lip with his thumb, and then he was leaning in, stopping a breath away to look at Harry.

Then he closed his eyes and kissed him. Chastely of course. This was just a brush of the lips. He pressed their mouths together, rubbing his from side to side to learn the curve of Harry's lips without his tongue. They weren't particularly soft, a little chapped even, but Draco's body didn't seem to care by the way it stirred as if from a long stupor.

Draco didn't want to pull away but did, because his arm had ended in a painful position and Harry had stopped breathing.

He waited for the other boy to open his eyes. He stood mesmerized as brilliant disks of green swallowed him up. Draco wanted to kiss Harry again and taste him, devour him.

"You should get dry or you'll catch a cold. You can use my towel." Draco pulled away, found a random blue towel and handed it to him.

"Go to your room so you can change. I'll go shut off the shower." he said then retreated to the bathroom to do so. He hung there a few minutes, leaving Harry time to get dressed and trying not to imagine him naked and wet. And failing.

He was contemplating a shower himself – hot or cold he was still undecided – when Vincent burst in and ducked into a toilet stall. The sound of puking gut got his problem under control.

When he went back to check on Harry, he was already under the covers and with his eyes closed. Draco wasn't sure if he was really asleep or just faking it, but left him either way.

His mind was painfully full of thoughts and impressions and he couldn't seem to follow the line of one thing without getting caught up in a tangle with all the others... blood, murder, kiss, fear, panic, death, pale, and back to the kiss. The one constant was Harry of course, but this had ceased to be unusual lately.

He went to his room, buried under the covers in his silk shorts and tried falling asleep without thinking of the kiss, of dead parents and killing.

* * *

The next day was Saturday. Draco had practice first thing in the morning, and then he had to go to town to meet his parents and go home for the weekend.

After what happened last night, Draco wanted to just climb into bed with Harry and sleep the two days away.

As it was, he got up at eight and went to check on him. He found Theo getting dressed to go to Hogsmeade.

"He might have a fever." was all Theo said before he left. Draco growled at him in his head. How could Theo be so _indifferent?_ This was Harry they were talking about.

Draco crouched by his bed to feel his temperature, seeing from the flushed cheeks and shivering form that Theo was probably right.

Green eyes opened slowly the moment Draco touched his forehead, narrowing slightly as if to bring him into focus.

"Dray...co?" Harry croaked softly, and Draco had to smile, feeling this hideous warm ball in his gut at the sound of his name on Harry's lips. They were still calling each other by surname and Draco found that was unacceptable.

"Hey. You've got a temperature. I'm going to go to breakfast and bring you something up, all right? Do you want to go to the Infirmary?"

"No!" the whisper was loud for Harry's standards, and Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't force him.

"Okay then, I'll get Snape-"

"No!" that was more of a panicked _no_ than an imperative one. Draco narrowed his eyes, using the hand that had been resting on Harry's face to grasp his chin.

"What happened last night Harry?" Harry closed his eyes, refusing to open them again.

"'M fine. Don't get Snape," he mumbled before his breathing evened out. Draco looked skyward, begging some god to give him patience, and left him.

He hurried to breakfast and ate the scrambled eggs and drank a glass of milk. What he really craved right then was coffee. A good smoke would have been equally appreciated, but he was going to see his parents in a few hours and his mother's nose was better than a bloodhound's.

He knew he was going against what Harry had asked him but he went to Severus anyway. He just couldn't stay here this weekend to watch over him, and Theo and Pansy were both away too, so his usual watchdogs were out. While he trusted Greg and Vince, this was a slightly sensitive matter and he was in no position to ask a favour from Blaise either, not after last night.

That left Severus, who, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise and remain detached, had really grown concerned for Harry.

Draco did not know what had happened the other night, so he hoped his Uncle and Harry hadn't gotten into a serious argument. Severus Snape held _Grudges_ and Draco didn't want that to get between Severus and taking care of Harry.

He knocked at his personal quarters and waited for a perfectly groomed and dressed Snape to open the door.

"Draco. This is a little early for you, isn't it?" he asked with dry humour as he motioned to get a seat. No amount of poise and grooming could hide the tired lines of his eyes. Halloweens were always horrible for his Godfather, and though Draco had always wanted to know why, he had never had the courage to ask.

"Funny. I always get up early for practice, you know that." Draco kept up the exchange with difficultly, not really having the time for it. He didn't want to leave Harry alone for too long.

"I see you're preoccupied."

"Yes. Harry is sick again. Fever..." Draco looked down at his hands, debating how to tell Severus exactly what had happened last night. He had promised himself he'd tell him if Harry hurt himself again.

"And he still doesn't want to go to Pomfrey?"

"No, but that's not... that's not everything." Draco swallowed and looked away from his Uncle's penetrating eyes. He did not interrupt him as he struggled to gather his thoughts.

"He... last night. He came back to the common room way after curfew and... I... it took some time to get to him, what with the party and everything. When I got there... he was in the bathroom. Under the shower. He... he-he hurts himself. Cuts." it felt so wrong saying it aloud. It felt like betrayal, and at the same time, it sounded so much worse. Like a disease, a bad sickness.

Severus had straightened up, his eyes fixed on Draco.

"You knew this before last night?"

"... yeah. I interrupted another time too. Second week of September or around that. I've made sure he's never alone since then. Theo and Pansy help."

"And you never told me?" his voice was that dangerous mix of soft and furious Draco disliked immensely. He raised his eyes and stared right at him.

"No, I didn't. He asked not to. And he had started getting better anyway, and he _was_ better until last night! You said something that made him tip over the edge again!" Draco accused with a strong voice.

Snape paled. He sat back, his face an inscrutable mask, and stared right in front of him for some time.

"I hadn't realized the situation. I keep... underestimating it." he admitted quietly.

"What did you say to him?"

"I was…insensitive. That's all you need to know from me. You said he's ill now?"

Draco nodded, allowing the change in subject. He'd get Harry to spill once he was feeling better.

"He's in bed. I said I'd bring up breakfast..." he hinted.

"You have to meet your father today."

"Yes."

"I'll do it then. I can get him a thermometer and aspirin if he needs it too." Severus sighed. Draco smirked internally.

"Thanks. He likes porridge with honey. I always exaggerate a little on the honey for extra calories and all that, and he hasn't complained. Not that he would anyway," he added, under his breath. "I'll see you Monday?" Draco called as he took his leave.

* * *

Harry felt like shite. He could barely follow what Draco said to him, and at the mention of Snape his heart beat too hard and heavily that he thought he was having a heart attack.

As it was, he almost did for real a little later.

Harry didn't know how much times passed since Draco went away, when a cool, calloused hand felt his forehead and pushed a thin cold stick in his mouth.

"Under your tongue" a low, soothing voice ordered him and he did what he was told.

He could feel the light breath of another person standing above him, but he didn't have the strength to open his eyes. It couldn't be anyone but Draco anyway, he'd said he'd be back with water or something.

A short bip sounded and the stick was removed from his mouth. Draco above him _humpf_ ed and tinkered with water and a glass.

"Swallow this." the voice was closer to his ear now and it was too low to be Draco's. A light smell of spices and disinfectant filled his nose as a tiny pill was pressed against his lips, followed by the rim of cool glass.

Water filled his mouth carefully, and Harry swallowed the pill dutifully. He was then laid back onto the pillow and he was ready to fall back asleep completely when Draco moved his right arm out from under the blankets and started lifting up the sleeve.

Harry willed his eyes to open, defensive instinct for protecting a wound kicking in. His arm hurt and he didn't want Draco seeing the cut again, no matter how gentle he was being about it.

Harry opened his eyes, and the amount of black that was substituting fair blond was enough to have him gasp and jerk away from the dark figure, who was _not_ Draco. Harry didn't need his glasses to recognize Snape.

He sat frozen and terrified, his injured arm cradled against his chest, his heart almost exploding and pumping blood he felt in waves of pain inside his skull.

"It's alright Potter. I just want to see if it is healing well. I have a salve that can help." Snape spoke to him in that tenor voice that sounded almost gentle if Harry didn't know better. Snape was not gentle, he was incapable of feeling that wasn't disgust or anger, especially when it came to him.

"'M fine. Please sir. Please. I'm fine. I'll get up now." Harry tried to wiggle free of the covers but they had twisted around his legs, which was just perfect.

"Don't be stupid Potter." Snape sighed. He sounded weary. "Lay back down, you can't go anywhere with your temperature." Snape managed to hold him by the shoulders and settled him back into his bed. He then left, and Harry started to joyously believe he had left for good when he came back, and Harry's heart twisted and attempted cartwheels.

A cold and damp something was placed on his forehead and it felt amazingly good.

"Stay still. I'll leave water next to your bed. I'll be back later to bring you something to eat." and with that Snape did leave for good.

Harry fell asleep.

He slept a lot, sometimes entering that middle way of half-awareness when he felt cool cloth being placed on his forehead. That happened more than a few times, but Harry didn't mind. The cool cloth helped a lot with his headache.

At one point Snape woke him up and told him to sit. Harry did that, of course, obeying as fast as he could, and the effort left him lightheaded.

A steaming bowl of porridge was settled in front of him. The connection was automatic in Harry's head. The second he sipped the food, under Snape's watchful eye – that was absolutely horrible, his stomach completely refused to eat under someone's stare, imagine Snape's – he tasted honey with porridge and his mind flew to Draco.

Harry's breath left him, together with a part of his heart, when he realized Draco had told Snape after all. He had told him everything.

Harry had never felt so betrayed in his life, and barely managed to hold back tears as he forced down chunks of warm mush.

The second Snape left, Harry broke down, sobbing pathetically into his pillow.

He was stupid. He had been completely naïve in thinking he could trust Draco, just because he wasn't an adult. Why did it surprise him that Malfoy had told Snape, the man whose hatred for Harry rivalled that of his Uncle?

He couldn't help his thoughts, which drifted to the kiss. It had been so unexpected Harry hadn't had time to understand what was happening. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't dreamed of Draco a few times – maybe several – in the past month but… it was all just a game to Malfoy, wasn't it? What else could it be? It wasn't realistically possible that he wanted something from Harry that wasn't just random pastime. Maybe that was why he had been spending so much time with him. It was only to play him. To lure him into a false sense of… _complacency_ , and then screw him over. Maybe even not that figuratively.

His thoughts were whirling deeper and deeper, getting murkier and sloshy with the fever burning in his mind, burning his mind…

And oh, let's not forget the new discovery he made last night. About who was really the killer between him and Voldemort.

With two hundred and six bones in his body aching like mad, and that kind of suffocating his brain, Harry wanted to cut and never stop the blood from leaving his body.

He didn't dare though, because Snape was in and out of the bloody room all day. He wasn't sure what he did when he was there, he always played possum whenever he heard the strong and self-assured _clack clack_ of Snape's heels approaching his room.

At one point on Saturday he must have fallen asleep for real because the sound of tinkering glass awoke him, and he opened his eyes to the soft, golden light of Sunday morning.

Snape was beside his bed, a white pill and a glass of water offered to him. Harry was very quiet and wary as he took them and swallowed, unsure what being given a second aspirin meant. What did Snape want in return for this?

His headache was bad but drinking water helped, and that was a luxury he hadn't had at the Dursleys', and one he was fully taking advantage of, although his brain was screeching ' _unworthy freak'_ the whole time.

"You still have a fever. Do not get out of bed today unless it is to go to the bathroom." with that Snape left him.

Harry was feeling tired, but not sleepy. Not sleepy was a problem, because he started thinking, and thinking, seen recent events, was not a good thing.

Harry really tried to shut off his mind.

At some point, he must have drifted into that half-sleep that he hated with a passion, because his body was too tired to move and obey him, but his mind was aware enough that it still more or less understood sounds and feelings.

It was at this point that he heard Snape come in the room. His heart didn't react in the usual way as the man approached. It kept its steady rhythm.

Harry tried to wake up when he felt Snape standing over him, his presence casting a cold shadow on his still body, but he couldn't.

He couldn't control, couldn't pull away when Snape moved his right arm away from under the covers and undid the bandages Draco had applied. Just before he had kissed him.

Harry wasn't sure then if he had drifted to a full sleep or if he was still awake, but he felt a cool substance being rubbed gently on his cut, and then someone bandaged it again, and the cool feeling remained, soothing the aching that had been bothering him when he had nothing to distract himself with.

He knew he was definitely asleep when probably the same someone brushed his hair back from his forehead, and adjusted his blankets so they covered him better.

His last thought was that when he woke again, he wouldn't remember the mind-shattering feeling of this little gesture, that he had never known the existence of.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13.**

Monday morning started like all the others. Harry still felt a little off but that was probably because he had stayed in bed for so long. He had _never_ stayed in bed for two days in a row before.

Draco came to get him for breakfast as usual, and as usual started his monologue on what he had done and hadn't done that weekend. He had gone Christmas shopping because his family _'never left Christmas shopping for December, that was when all the plebeians started theirs_ ', and that meant – apparently – that all the really worthy stuff would be snatched away.

He made no mention of what had happened on Friday. God, but if it weren't for Snape drilling a hole in his head, and the acid twisting in his gut every time he thought of Draco's betrayal, this past weekend felt like a lifetime ago to Harry.

Yet _those_ events were kept vivid and right at the front of his mind, thanks to Snape's black stare from the High Table at breakfast, wrapping his stomach in knots and making it impossible to eat anything. And every time Draco passed him food, his gut tried to climb his oesophagus, and he couldn't help thinking of his double-play. Draco not only had insinuated himself under his skin and then taken advantage of it, but had also turned him over... to _Snape,_ of all people.

He kept his silence, giving one-syllable answers when he needed to. Draco noticed this, and prodded, but in the end let it go, and acted as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just ripped away the floor from under Harry's feet and left him on the ground, bruised and completely alone. Again.

Chemistry was tame, almost quiet as they had to work in pairs at a new concoction and Snape passed his time at his desk, observing everyone without, for once, spewing insults at all the Gryffindors and Harry. Harry was a wreck of nerves, paying attention to Hermione's instructions was all he could do, and it proved to be blissfully mind-numbing. He dismayed when they had to part ways before History.

Between classes and in the ones where Draco – still – sat next to him, the blond walked and sat very close to him, as if to ward off any other person trying to do the same. Which was ridiculous, because no one wanted to be that close to him anyway.

In those classes where Hermione was his partner, he kept throwing Harry long calculating glances, perhaps trying to catch his attention. Perhaps thinking Harry didn't notice. He ignored all this.

After lunch, since Harry didn't have detention anymore, he usually went to the library and met up with Hermione for homework and side reading. Draco didn't like the library much, and usually spent his free period in the commons or outside with the other Slytherins. Today, Harry couldn't wait to get some distance from him. He had no idea now how to confront him on what he had done. Some part of him _didn't_ want a confrontation. For some reason, he had assumed that Draco would drift off and leave him alone, now that he had gotten a taste of what he was like and how it was wasted effort anyway.

Harry was in the _Kipling_ section, debating whether or not start reading the Jungle Book to get an early start with next semester's readings, when he saw Draco approaching on the other side of the isle.

Draco motioned him with one finger, and Harry – he was wary, certainly didn't trust Draco anymore – went, because Draco had a indefinable magnet about him that induced you to do anything he said. And his heart throbbed every time he thought of that kiss.

Once Harry stood next to him, Draco managed to manoeuvre him without touching him so that his back was pressed against the shelves, and Draco was almost pressed against his front.

"I really want to kiss you again." Draco whispered, his eyes were grey and they were staring right at him.

That was not what he'd been expecting.

"What?" was Harry's brilliant reply. He wanted to groan at how pathetic that was. His easily excited heart had responded better than that.

"Didn't you like it?" Draco asked, cocking his head to the side, mirroring his confusion but apparently misinterpreting it.

Harry stared at him, for once able to look right into his icy grey eyes. _Did you?_ He wanted to ask. What he said instead was: "Why?" _Why did you do it? And why did you betray me a few hours later?_ Fuck, if that recalled a Christ-Judas parallelism in his pervert mind. Thinking too much about it had obviously been bad for him.

Draco licked his lips, and Harry almost copied him because his whole mouth had gone dry.

"Because. I fancy you, Harry." Harry's eyebrows shot up at that and he almost laughed. _What?_ He clearly hadn't followed Harry's very clear line of thought. Now he was completely open and unprepared for whatever Draco intended to direct this conversation.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked stupidly, and Draco smirked.

"I'll show you." and he leaned in and pressed their lips together again. They were soft, and _warm._ Harry remembered the warmth, and he liked it. He opened his mouth to let out the air he had sucked in at Draco's sudden action, and the blond took advantage of that. With a flick of his tongue on his lower lip, he slipped it into Harry's mouth, exploring, caressing every part, and Harry felt lightheaded, maybe from of the lack of air, maybe because Draco was _good_ at this. He prodded Harry's tongue with his own, _demanded_ he respond, much like he did with conversation and with everyday real life.

This wasn't real life. This was surreal, a parallel time and place.

Harry knew he was painfully inexperienced, but Draco didn't seem to mind. He had dug his fingers in Harry's hair and adjusted his head so that he had even more access to Harry's mouth and that drew a moan from Harry's throat...

"Harry? Are you all right?" that was Hermione's voice. They both jerked back at the same time, Harry with wide, paralyzed eyes and Draco with such a dark glare Harry was sure he was going to murder her.

"Yeah, fine 'Mione. Give me a moment." he called as loud as he dared in the library. He sounded a little breathless.

He tried straightening his shirt and his hair until Draco batted off his hands and did it for him, much more efficiently. He was pouting.

"You should get her a muzzle or something, she sticks her nose way too much."

"Draco..." he said warningly. This was a conversation they had often. Harry defended his friend with Draco, just as he rebuked Hermione when she started in on the Slytherins. It was a full-time job.

Draco sneaked in a peck on the lips, and when he pulled away he was smirking widely.

"Whatever. I'll see you in Biology" he said.

Harry was left there dazed, the left side of his brain calling him stupid, the other still not coherent enough to counter the onslaught of insults. Clearly, Draco hadn't realized what a shitty boy-toy Harry was going to be. And clearly, he could manipulate Harry more easily than if he were a puppet with strings attached.

It took him many stumbled attempts to get back to their study table.

"Everything all right? You didn't find Kipling's books?" Hermione asked. Then she seemed to look at him more closely.

"Are you sure you're not still a little sick? You're face is awfully flushed." that had the ability to make him blush even more.

"I feel fine." he mumbled, and thanks to whatever saint, she let it go.

One thing kept going round and round in Harry's head all afternoon. _I fancy you, Harry._

He didn't believe it, of course – how could he? – but the right side of his brain had come back around, and was whispering to him so sweetly… _why_ , it said, _would Draco put up with all of Harry's shite, if what he wanted was only a little fun?_ He had a whole school of much more attractive and straight-forward boys who would roll over at any word from him. Harry was bony, short, sleep-deprived and had panic attacks. Not exactly a very arousing profile.

And it definitely wasn't the personality Draco enjoyed. Harry had no personality, he was fully aware of that.

So which side of his brain did he listen to? His right or his left?

Monday night was _supposed_ to be Latin tutoring. He had cocked an eyebrow in his head when he saw that Draco was waiting for him on his feet, with his books under one arm.

"It's too noisy in here tonight. We're studying in your room." with that he had turned, walked into Harry's room as if it was his, told Theo to 'take a walk' and settled at Harry's desk, dumbing the books on the table.

He was looking expectantly at Harry.

"Er... I can use Theo's chair I guess..." Draco rolled his eyes, got up, grasped him by his hand and pulled him to the desk.

Harry found himself straddling Draco – who was sitting on the chair – with his hands on his shoulders and Draco's hands in his hair again.

He was about to protest – for real – when Draco crushed their lips together, and in a matter of seconds Draco's tongue was in his mouth, making it impossible to talk or even think.

Harry found he liked this position better than the library shelves digging into his back.

He instinctively copied Draco's expert tongue, and gasped when teeth bit into his lower lip and nibbled on it.

Amid the attack on his mouth, Harry could feel hands and arms warm his back, rubbing his neck and clinging to his hair, hands that brought their bodies closer together as if to melt them.

When Draco pulled out his tongue, Harry followed it shyly. He wanted to taste Draco too.

He tangled his fingers in Draco's silk hair and turned his head so that it was more comfortable for him when the tip of his tongue followed the outline of Draco's perfect lips.

It was mainly Draco that opened his mouth and drew Harry's tongue in with his own, wrapping around it, dancing with it.

At one point Harry needed breath, and used his grip in Draco's hair to get a little room between their mouths. Draco didn't let him get too far away, sliding his mouth across his jaw line and to his neck, teeth grazing lightly on his pulse.

The sensation was electric, and it frightened him for its intensity. He pulled Draco's hair again, putting definite distance between their faces.

They stared at each other as they panted, the grey of his eyes had been swallowed up by the dilated pupil.

Harry was aware of another evidence of Draco's arousal, very close to his own, and was wondering if he should do anything about it when Draco talked.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, and Harry looked at him in surprise.

"You get this little furrow between your eyebrows when you're upset or concentrating." Draco explained, and he did the oddest thing. He reached up to brush his lips against said wrinkle, and he let his mouth linger there for a moment before he pulled away.

He looked extremely satisfied with himself after that.

"So what's wrong?" he repeated. It took Harry a few seconds to find his line of thought again.

"I don't…" he didn't want to sound ungrateful, or offend Draco in any way, but he needed to understand him, understand this, and he just couldn't bring himself to trust Draco again. Not after he had told Snape something that was nobody's business but his own. Not after he had _left_ him alone with the hated professor a full weekend, right after he had wrapped up his cuts and _kissed_ him.

"You told Snape." He said at last. It was Draco the one that pulled away this time, resting his back against the chair. Harry felt stupid for being glad that he hadn't pushed Harry off of him.

"Are you angry about that?"

"No. Yes. I don't… I just don't like people knowing my business." He said at last.

"Harry," it was still so strange hearing Draco say his name. He and Hermione were the only ones that called him by that and it always made him shiver a little. It was also hard sometimes to remember to answer to it when they called on him.

"Snape isn't 'people'. He's your Head of House. He _has_ to know when kids here are… having a hard time."

"That wasn't me having a hard time, Draco. And Snape has one hundred and four students to think about, he certainly doesn't want to have to deal with me. Just keep him out of this." Harry couldn't believe he was speaking so many words at once, his arousal fuelling his voice, the determination behind it.

"You're wrong. Snape cares a great deal about you. You're Slytherin."

"I'm a Potter."

"Your family name clashes with mine, Harry. The Snapes were never important enough to draw your family's attention." Draco obviously didn't understand. Harry sighed and shook his head, not really wanting to get into _that_ story. Not now and not ever.

"I can't… there are things about me you don't know Draco."

"If you tell me, I'll know them." Harry tried to wiggle out of Draco's embrace and off his lap. The blond's mouth got that arrogant down-curl to it and held him tightly.

"Harry." He said with his demanding tone. Harry looked away. There were so many things Draco didn't know, like his ugly scars, the flashbacks, his parents… Voldemort. He didn't know anything about this, nor would he want to. Harry wasn't going to tell him.

"This is… it can't work Draco." Harry mumbled.

"And why ever not?"

Harry looked around, trying to find away to explain this to Draco as simply as possible.

"I'm...pale" Harry said at last. Draco arched one perfectly cured eyebrow as his arms pulled Harry even closer to him. Their hips moved against each other and the softening arousal sparked up again.

"I'm not that tan myself" Draco replied, rolling his hips up and making Harry fist his hands in the white blond hair.

"You're… aristocratic pale. I'm sickly pale" Harry explained, then forgot what the rest of his argument was because Draco was kissing him again and rolling his hips.

Harry felt really _warm_ for the first time in his life, the blood in his veins going absolutely crazy as new, overwhelming pleasure gathered in his gut, and then a little lower.

"Harry..." Draco murmured in his ear, his teeth started to nibble his earlobe and Harry thrust his hips against him at the yet new sensation, feeling the burning in his blood reaching high. Draco's hand opened his trousers and grasped his erection, and that made everything explode into a bitten back cry.

Harry draped boneless on Draco as he got himself off too, until they just held each other, panting.

Theo came into the room then. He spared Harry and Draco a disinterest glance, got his toothbrush and towel and went to the loo.

* * *

The next day Harry felt giddy. Draco had waited for Theo to head to breakfast than had pounced on him, ravishing his mouth and sucking on his neck before doing his tie for him and taking him to the Great Hall. Harry was feeling so light, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be high. If it was, when Draco left him, he'd have to find a way make money and buy drugs.

Snape was in a bad mood that day, but even that didn't manage to dampen the warm feeling in his chest.

That is, until at the sound of the bell he ordered Harry to stay behind, glaring at Draco who had lingered at the door.

A series of bad to worse case scenarios crossed Harry's mind in those few seconds it took Snape to talk, from having to repay Snape in some way – detention, money, sexual favours – to expulsion or institutionalizing him in a mental hospital.

"I have to escort you to the Headmistress' office. You have a meeting with Head Chief Dumbledore"

If the first half of Snape's sentence had confirmed Harry's worse fears, the second half just made them seem like a child's game. Dumbledore was in charge of Voldemort's capture. The Order of the Phoenix was the secret operation's code name. Dumbledore had always given Harry the creeps. With his grandfatherly smile, and out of this world's clothes… there was just something about him Harry did not trust.

"Let's go then, I don't have all the time in the world, Potter." Snape was clearly annoyed with him. Either because he had already had to waste two days of his weekend on Harry, and now just couldn't take it anymore, or simply because he'd have preferred teaching second years students to having to put up one more second of Harry's presence, it really didn't matter.

Harry followed Snape as silently as he could. They made their way up to the Headmistress office, passing Draco who had been waiting in the corridor.

"Class, Mr. Malfoy." Snape thundered, and after inspecting Harry from head to toes, he nodded slowly and turned to head to Maths.

Dumbledore was already there, wearing the most absurd lily and green bow tie, with a checked shirt and flannel white trousers. His eyes twinkled behind the half-moon spectacles as he saw Snape and Harry.

"Severus, how good it is to see you again. And Harry too, of course." Snape was very clearly not of the same sentiment, as he came to stand next to the Headmistress with a sour look towards the older man's tie.

"Let's not waste my time on pleasantries, Albus. Why are you here?" Snape drawled, much like Draco would.

"Care for a sherbet lemon anyone?" he offered the sweet to Harry, who vigorously shook his head. Snape ignored him and Headmistress McGonagall said 'No thank you' with all the poise of a cat who was getting ready to pounce.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself and popped the sweet in his mouth.

"Very well, I will begin. Sadly, I have to deliver bad news." He took a pause of effect, and Harry remembered those from the two times they had met, when he had come to warn the Dursleys of not letting him wander alone in the city when he was thirteen, and when, just this summer, he had come to tell them all that-

"Tom Riddle is back."

Harry had already known that, but his blood chilled anyway at that sentence, spoken with such gravity. A sentence and a tone he had hoped never to have to hear again. Harry thought using his real name and not his 'artist' name made everything even worse. It wasn't a faceless monster that had killed more people than any serial killer before. It was Tom Riddle, a man from London city who was rumoured had attended this very school fifty years before.

"My goodness…" McGonagall whispered, a hand on her chest.

"There was a possibility of that. That is why the boy is here, isn't it?" Snape said.

"It seems Riddle has somehow come to know young Harry is in Scotland."

He said it with such casualty that at first Harry didn't register the full meaning of the words. Then he did, and he probably became as white as a sheet. He really wanted to run away from here and hide in the forest or something. Wait for the animals to eat him. Anything was preferable to Voldemort catching him.

"How is that possible?" Snape said softly, his furious voice. Dumbledore made a gesture to say he had no idea, but something was off.

"Whatever should we do then? Hogwarts is safe enough but…"

"The others…" Harry mumbled. It crossed his mind then, like a flash-forward of what would happen if Voldemort did find him. Here at the school. With all the other children. With Draco.

The professors and the Chief turned to him.

"What was that, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him.

Harry swallowed, and tried to elaborate, articulating to make sure his words didn't tremble and get distorted.

"I can't stay here. If he comes here, all the other kids are in danger. He could…hurt…dozens before he found me." Harry whispered. Perhaps Dumbledore had come to ask him to give himself up? What was the point in wasting so much time and resources in protecting him anyway? He was nothing. He could just go to Voldemort and let him kill him. It would be no one's great loss.

"You are precisely right, my boy. That is why I have come. To make sure you were moved somewhere else, somewhere safer."

"There is no other place as safe as Hogwarts." Snape bit out.

"Perhaps. Perhaps there is…"

"Spit it out, Albus. This is a serious matter." His professor snapped.

"Well, seen your history and your accomplishments, Severus, the Order has thought that nobody better than you could take care of Harry. Spinner's End is very hard to track down, you made sure of that."

Harry didn't know enough – or anything really – about Snape to understand what they were talking about, but what he had understood was that Dumbledore wanted to assign him a new guardian.

"Why Albus, I hardly think that is a good idea! Perhaps returning him to Little Whinging? Riddle didn't find him there for sixteen years after all-" McGonagall interjected.

"No." Harry jumped out of his skin at that loud, imperative denial that had come from Snape. All eyes turned to him, "He's not going back there. I think Albus may be… right. Cockworth is a good choice, and I have dealt with psychopathic criminals before."

"But what about your classes Severus?" Minerva asked.

"That is easily taken care of, my dear. I know a certain Horace Slughorn, a brilliant chemist, who has already volunteered covering for Severus for a few months."

"Well then, it seems everything is already in order," Severus said with dry humour.

"Apparently so, yes." Minerva threw Dumbledore a look, "When should they leave then?"

"I'd suggest as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, or evening at the latest." He replied with a smile and a twinkle.

Harry felt faint. He was becoming numb again. His body was probably getting ready for a panic attack. _Breathe. Deeply._

 _In and out, in and out, through the nose, just breathe._

"We'll be leaving tomorrow after lunch. Mr. Potter, make sure you have everything ready by then." And with that Snape left, without a backward glance.

"Are you alright with this decision, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry nodded, laughing hysterically in his head. Of course he was okay with it. There hadn't been much choice, had there?

He was going to have to live with Snape. For God only knew how long.

"You can go back to class now, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said, and Harry nodded again, left the study, climbed down the stairs and slipped into Math class for the last ten minutes of lesson. He did not listen to a word of it.

Draco brushed his hand on the way to Lit, but that had the effect of almost making him cry.

He was going to have to leave Draco. He might never see him again.

"Harry, what's the matter?" he asked, and Harry just shook his head, trying to twist away from him and head to a loo.

Draco let him go only to follow him.

"Harry?"

Harry wanted to kiss him. He wanted to melt into him and never let him go.

He couldn't bring himself to do that though. He didn't know how Draco would take that and he couldn't risk rejection now. Not now.

So he threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tight, pressing his face into the side of his neck, breathing in the expensive soap and cologne Draco used.

"Harry? What happened? What did Snape say?"

Harry had a hard time not crying.

"I'm scared." He mumbled into his neck. He didn't know if Draco had heard it or not, but it didn't matter. He had never said that aloud before. It helped a little. It helped to get things straight into his head.

He was scared of Voldemort. He was scared of losing Draco. He was scared that somehow he could get hurt because of Harry. But he was terrified of what Snape could do now that they were going to be alone for months. Some place where he would have _guardian authority_ over him. They wouldn't be teacher and student. He would be able to do literally _anything_ to him.

Draco pulled him back and brought their lips together, melting them together, pressing their bodies so close Harry felt a little warmth coming back to him.

"You're shivering like mad. What's wrong Harry? Tell me." He demanded, though there was worry in his tone.

"Nothing. It's… it's a long… I'll tell you tonight. We have to get to class." He mumbled. He didn't want to let go of Draco but he did. They got into McGonagall's class a little late, but she didn't tell them off for it.

All through the rest of the day Draco kept throwing him concerned glances, and all through the rest of the day Harry tried to decide whether to tell him about the psychopath trying to kill him or not.

At lunch he wasn't able to eat anything, and at dinner any smell of food made his stomach actually turn inside out.

He had a hard time appearing as normal as he could in class, though he didn't fool Draco.

There really weren't many options. He could tell Draco and lose him, or he could lie and hope to see him again. Although the chances of that were very slim. Voldemort had never failed to kill a prey he had decided on. Harry was just the 'lucky' child who had escaped by some miracle. And the sacrifice of his parents.

So what was he going to do?

After supper that night, Draco brought him to his room and sat him on his bed.

He sat beside Harry and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly. Harry had been so preoccupied he hadn't caught up with Draco's actions until his tongue was in his mouth, and his fingers were twining in his hair and his glasses were getting in the way.

Harry couldn't do much but kiss him back, and then lean his forehead against his when his lungs started burning for lack of air.

"Tell me now." Draco whispered. Harry sighed.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"WHAT?" Draco pulled away and grasped his chin, so Harry had no choice but to look him in the eye.

"I'm going… away."

"Where?"

"To Snape's house. He's my appointed new guardian."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

" _why?_ "

"I… I don't know. It was the Headmistress' decision." Harry lied though his teeth and hated it.

"But she can't _do_ that. She can't just pull you out of school!" Draco exclaimed outraged.

"I think it's for the best Drac-"

"No it's not. I'm going to talk to my father about this. Don't you worry Harry. That old bint-"

"Draco. I'm serious-" Harry tried to calm him down, to let him see.

"So am I." Harry stared into his silver eyes and he had to smile.

"Draco, I'm sure we will see each other again, and you can write-"

"Of course I'll fucking see you again, Scarhead. I'm going to be at Snape's house every weekend."

"You don't understand-"

"Potter, Potter," Draco shook his head smirking, " _you_ don't understand. Snape is my Godfather. And I'm going to use my status as his Godson to demand to see you every weekend. If this was your plan to get rid of me, it has failed miserably."

"I would never want to get rid of you." Harry mumbled. Draco's smirk softened.

"Good, because I wouldn't let you go easily even if you did."


	14. PART II - Chapter 14

**_PART 2_**

 **CHAPTER 14.**

A special car came to pick them up.

Draco had insisted on coming with him to say goodbye, and so it was Harry, Snape and Draco who stood side by side awkwardly waiting for the special agent that would bring them to Cockworth. He would leave them in a country road and they would walk from there to Spinner's End.

All that had been explained – editing quite a few points – through greeted teeth by Snape at Draco's restless nagging. Harry wanted to strangle Draco. He loved him, he truly did, but he was about ready to kill him when he asked another question and Snape threw him a death glare.

He was getting Snape annoyed, and guess who was going to have to deal with a pissed off Snape? Of course it would be yours truly.

When the silver car with black windows appeared on the road, Harry found Draco's arms snaking around him from behind, his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"I'll see you as soon as I can, all right?" he whispered in his ear. Harry nodded, his throat all closed up, even if he didn't really believe him. Draco would probably realize in a couple of days how good life was without Harry Potter making a mess of it, and then he'd be glad Harry was gone.

As Snape got his suitcase and Harry's almost-empty backpack in the boot of the car, Draco turned him around and hugged him properly.

"Snape..." Harry whispered uncomfortable.

"He knows I'm gay and he's fine with it." Draco whispered back, missing the whole point. It was everything about Draco, wasn't it?

Harry bit his tongue at his bitter thoughts, knowing it was only because he was upset he was leaving. He had finally started to settle in, and Life threw him somewhere else. Life was a bitch.

"Here," he said, before he lost his courage, thrusting the white embroidered handkerchief at him. He kept his eyes fixed on his shoes and desperately tried to forget Snape was probably watching them.

"Oh. You still have that." Draco said, making no move to take it from him. Harry sighed quietly. Of course he had kept it. It had been awfully selfish and arrogant of him to keep something that was not his, and Aunt Petunia would have knocked all his teeth out with the frying pan if she had caught him but... nobody had ever given him anything and it had felt nice... being able to hold on to it when Draco was in one of his moods and sneered at everything in sight. It had been insurance that even if the blond woke up one day and just left him alone, he'd have proof their... _friendship_ had existed, however briefly.

"Keep it. At the cost of sounding extremely sappy and queer," Draco said, wrapping his hand around Harry's thin, outstretched wrist, "you can sleep with it under the pillow and think that some part of me is with you." Draco smirked at him, pecked him on the cheek before releasing him.

"Call me all right? You can use Snape's phone, he won't mind." he told him.

 _Of course he'll mind,_ but Harry was still too much in shock to say that, so he just nodded and slipped into the car, sitting as plastered to the car door as possible, as far away from Snape as the small, dark place allowed. He didn't look back out the window as they drove away.

The ride took forever. Harry wasn't sure how long, he didn't possess a watch and he certainly wasn't going to ask, but it felt like forever. He clutched Draco's handkerchief in his pocket the whole way. He could _feel_ Snape's tension in the small space, and the knowledge of Snape knowing about his cuts weighted almost painfully on his mind. The professor had yet to say anything about that too.

The Scottish countryside gave way to wastelands before more green pastures appeared. A big street-sign reading _Cockworth_ told him they were nearly there.

"Leave us here." Snape's tenor ordered, and the sudden sound in the quiet made Harry's heart kick-start painfully.

The car sped off, leaving them by the side road, in the middle of nothing.

"This way." Snape began walking across the field on their right. He did not look at Harry once. They crossed it diagonally, went through a small river that divided the field from the next one, and then walked vertically until Harry saw a small village, a place hardly deserving the name since it was merely six houses all clustered together.

They all looked pretty precarious, as if any of them was going to fall any second. Of course, Snape stopped in front of the only one that truly looked abandoned.

The key in the lock made cringing screeches as it turned and turned, until finally the door opened.

"Come." Snape did not stop to take in the house, and Harry did not lift his eyes from the professor's shoes. They went up stairs and red carpet greeted them on the second floor.

"This is your room." Snape opened a door and motioned inside. Harry went in and stood in the middle, looking down.

"The bathroom is next door, and the one after that is my room. You can go anywhere but my room. Knock on it if you need something and I'm inside. Don't destroy anything and don't run in the house." Snape hesitated, as if trying to imagine what other rules he should set up. There were loads he had forgotten. How many bathroom breaks did he have? How often would he get food? What were his chores? What was his wake-up time and his curfew?

"That's it for now. Unpack and come to the kitchen when you're finished."

Snape left without another glance, leaving the door open.

Harry looked around then, noting how _big_ the room was. It was almost as big as the one for two he had at Hogwarts. This couldn't possibly be right. He was never going to manage sleeping _here._ Perhaps there were no smaller rooms in the house?

He walked to the bed and quietly dismayed. Fresh sheets, heavy duvet, pillow.

Harry took the pillow hesitantly and placed it carefully on a nearby chair. There, that was a little more to his standards.

He placed his rucksack on the desk, taking out all the schoolbooks that had occupied it and settling them in an orderly pile at the corner of the desk.

He put away the few clothes he had, and then sat on the desk chair, wondering if it was alright to go down now.

Maybe Snape was going to give him more rules? Maybe he wanted to see if Harry was half a decent cook.

Harry's heart beat heavy in his chest. It was an odd thought in his head but he _wanted_ to be a decent cook for Snape. The man had offered him his house, hadn't he? He had offered to protect him from Voldemort.

The feeling wasn't new, but Harry was so scared of disappointing this feeling, he nearly worked himself into a panic.

He wanted to _please_ Snape. He wanted to show him he truly was grateful for taking care of his miserable life, even if Dumbledore had cornered him into it.

He knew he sucked at pleasing people though. He had lost count of how many times he had tried to please his relatives, only to mess up spectacularly and making them disappointed and angry instead.

Harry took a deep, quivering breath and got up, straightened his clothes and went downstairs.

He moved as quietly as he could, getting a heart-attack when the fourth-last step squeaked. He'd have to remember that.

At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow corridor that led to a sitting room. From there, one door was the main entrance, one was closed, and one was open. That was the kitchen.

Harry made his way there, lingering at the door and waiting for instructions.

Snape was sitting at the small table, facing Harry but with a newspaper hiding him.

There was a kettle on the stove.

As Snape kept reading – he probably hadn't heard him coming down – Harry debated whether to interrupt him or just wait for Snape to finish his newspaper. He debated such a long while that in the end, Snape must have sensed another presence, because he lowered the paper and regarded Harry with his black daunting eyes.

"You can sit, Potter." Snape said, as he got up to get the whistling kettle.

Harry found himself in the middle of another dilemma. Should he sit where he was, or on a chair like at Hogwarts?

At his relative's home he couldn't so much as glance at furniture if it wasn't for cleaning it, let alone _use_ it.

He had made up his mind to sit right there where he was after all, when Snape placed two empty ceramic cups on the table, one in front of himself, the other in front of the other chair.

"I don't say things twice, Mr. Potter." Snape sounded annoyed. Harry snapped forward, sliding slowly in the empty chair, keeping his eyes on Snape to see if it was all right. The man just placed the steaming water on the table and settled back in his chair.

Harry perched on the edge of the heavy, wooden chair. He couldn't help thinking they must hurt a lot more than the light iron ones in his Aunt's kitchen. Then again, maybe they were heavier and not really meant to be swung about.

In complete silence, Snape served the tea and placed chocolate biscuits on a plate. Harry knew this technique, and knew better than to fall for it. When offered, he politely denied the biscuits.

When the hot, coloured water was placed in front of him, he just said 'thank you' and did not drink it.

Snape drank some, ate one biscuit and then leaned back to look at Harry.

"You don't like tea?" was the very odd question Snape asked, in his tenor voice. He sounded mildly curious.

"Tea's fine, sir." Harry hurriedly reassured.

"Then why aren't you drinking any?" Snape kept that unnerving, mild tone he had only ever heard once, directed at Draco.

Harry didn't know how to answer that, and it made his hands sweat and his heart start panicking. Why couldn't Snape just tell him straight out what to do? Instead of circling around the matter like...like...a Slytherin. Harry hated Slytherins' way of talking.

Harry sighed mentally and curled his hand around the steaming up. If Snape wanted a reason to punish him, then Harry didn't have much choice but to give him one.

He touched his lips to the rim of the cup and took a sip, the hot water warming its way down his throat and settling in his stomach, radiating heat everywhere.

"The biscuits are good too." Snape added, inching the plate towards him. Nausea filled Harry's stomach and throat at the sight of sweets.

"I'm good, thank you sir."

Snape didn't insist, merely sat back and finished his tea. Harry waited to be scolded or shouted at.

He waited.

"I don't know how long we're going to stay here for. I still do not condone lazing around. Either do homework or read or do something productive." Snape said. Harry nodded his understanding, not having expected anything less. He was waiting for his scolding, or for a list of chores, but Severus just went back to reading his newspaper.

Understanding his dismissal, he got up, without even thinking about it he cleared the table and put everything in the sink, resolving to do it later, when he wouldn't disturb the professor's reading, and then went upstairs.

He decided that, since Snape was a teacher, what he'd appreciate the most now was that Harry did all his homework to perfection.

He started on that.

He worked quietly until two knocks on the door made him jump out of his skin. Who was knocking?

The door didn't open after a few seconds, and so Harry was forced to get up and open it himself. Snape was standing there, in his usual dark robes, staring down at him.

"Lunch is ready." he said, and turned around to go back down.

Harry's eyes widened impossibly. Well fuck. He had completely forgotten to cook lunch! Snape must be so angry... it was with shaky hands that he followed Snape to the kitchen, beating himself in his head for forgetting.

How could he be so stupid? The first day in the house and he forgot such a basic thing like that! Hogwarts had spoiled him.

He stood at the door as Snape took his earlier seat with his back to the window, facing him.

He started serving himself, then glanced up and saw Harry hesitating there.

"Sit, Potter." he said. Harry sat, his hands shaking and his mind blank. Was he going to punish him after he had eaten? Was forcing him to eat his punishment? Harry was getting a head-splitting migraine.

"Eat something." he said. So he _was_ going to punish him with food. Harry thought that was a fair enough punishment. He certainly wasn't going to forget about meals from now on.

He ignored his stomach and threw down all the food Snape passed him. Soon enough, he felt nausea running up and down his trachea.

He locked his lips and put the dishes in the sink. Snape was reading his newspaper once again.

Harry hurried to the bathroom, threw everything up, washed his teeth and went down to wash the dishes. Snape was still there, his whole upper body covered with the black on white print.

He made short work of the dishes – they were only two, and Snape didn't eat much, compared to his Uncle and cousin – so he put everything away and went to his room. He could feel Snape's black eyes drilling a hole in his back.

He was still feeling nauseous, but he was quite sure there was nothing more to throw up in his stomach. He worked on finishing his homework.

He kept an eye on the light outside this time, and when it was about dinnertime, he went downstairs to cook and set the table.

But Snape was already there, baking something. Harry felt despair, and when his eyes met Snape's, a cold thrill of fear washed over him, freezing him on the spot. Was he angry Harry was completely useless? Was he going to punish him again?

"Whatever is the matter, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry was shaking and he definitely couldn't answer. He lowered his eyes and silently begged Snape to give him another chance.

Silence filled the room, and Harry hated it. At least his Uncle shouted and grunted when he was angry, and Harry knew what was going to happen. Snape's quiet way of expressing disgust was going to drive him mad.

"Set the table for two." the command arrived sharp and it broke the stasis that had fallen in the room. Harry jerked into motion, opening cupboards at random to find glasses and plates and silverware.

By the time the table was ready, Snape had finished cooking. He served the hot vegetable soup in two plates and cut the bread.

Harry hovered behind the chair he had used earlier, wondering if perhaps his professor had invited someone else or-

"Sit and eat, Potter." he was giving him food again? Despite Harry being a total waste of space that day?

Harry sat on the edge, grasped the spoon in a death-grip to try and stop the trembling. He scooped up tiny portions of liquid at a time, making sure he didn't spill on the table or on himself.

It was at that moment that a phone rang, and Harry was so focused on his task he started, badly. Green liquid sloshed out of his spoon and onto the table and his hands.

"Sorry! I'm sorry..." Harry mumbled, trying to clean away the spill with a napkin, his hands shaking so bad he looked like he had Parkinson's disease.

"Leave it." Snape sighed. He must have been exasperated. Probably at the end of his patience, which he didn't have much to begin with.

Snape got up and circled the table, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cower away from the blow.

He exhaled a shuddering breath once Snape's shoes bypasses him, and disappeared in the sitting room. He hadn't hit him.

"What is it?" the professor snapped. The phone. Of course he was going to answer the phone first. Harry's stomach twisted and shrank into the size of a nut from the nerves.

"Wait." Snape ordered, presumably into the phone, then, "Potter, it is for you." he called, clearly annoyed. Harry went to the sitting room, and approached the held out machine slowly. His eyes flickered to Snape's face, but he was wearing that inscrutable expression he so hated.

He held the phone to his ear, and said "Hello" very self-consciously. It felt so weird speaking into a plastic thing. He had always seen his relatives do it, but he knew he probably looked ridiculous.

 _"Harry! Finally. I thought I had told you to call me as soon as you got to Snape's house!"_ Draco's voice rang loud and clear, as if he was standing in the other room.

"Sorry." Harry mumbled, even though he was quite sure Draco had never told him something like that.

" _It's fine. So? How are you? What's it like? Snape has been civil, right_?"

"I'm fine. Everything's fine. Yes, and we were eating supper." he said. Snape had gone back to the kitchen but Harry wasn't going to risk him overhearing as he talked about the professor to Draco.

" _All right..._ " Draco sounded disappointed. Harry wanted to bang his head repeatedly against something. He hated making Draco upset, but Harry just couldn't help it. If Draco hadn't grasped the fact that Harry was a constant disappointment for everyone in the two months they had spent together at school, it wasn't _Harry's_ fault.

" _Classes here are going normal. Tell Snape his sub teacher is an incompetent. Plays horrible favouritisms. McGonagall said I should send you the work we're doing so you can stay up to par. I'll send the materials to Snape's computer."_

"Okay." Harry cringed at his flat, completely off-putting voice. Draco paused on the other side.

" _Are you sure everything's all right, Harry?_ "

"Yeah"

" _I guess I'll see you in a bit_."

"Yeah."

" _Bye._ "

"Bye." Draco hung up. Harry felt like an arsehole.

Harry made his way back to dinner with lead in his stomach. He didn't feel like eating anymore. Once he saw the mess he had made on the tablecloth, he wanted to eat even less.

He could hardly tell Snape that, though. So he sat, dipped the spoon in the liquid, and played with it until Snape got up with his empty bowl and placed it in the sink. Harry hastily copied him, discreetly dumping the soup down the drain and pushing his sleeves up so he could wash the dishes.

"You don't have to do that." Snape's low, rumbling voice said behind him. Harry flinched and turned, looking down. Snape's phrase didn't make any sense! Wasn't he the one who insisted on ' _clarity and punctuality'_ of speech in essays? ' _Don't have to'_ meant that he shouldn't, that he could do something else instead, or was it simply a trick, to see if Harry was indeed lazy and would immediately take the easy way out?

"Sir?" he asked, because it seemed the safest way to ask for clarification. Saying he didn't understand was completely out of the question, it would bring forth heavy punishment for sure.

"Come and read in the sitting room. I'll do the dishes later." Snape said, already halfway into the other room.

Harry still didn't understand. He followed the man into the sitting room, shuffled his feet as Snape settled onto and armchair with an open book in front of him.

After a moment, sensing Harry's questioning looks, Snape raised his eyes.

"It had come to my attention you like to read. Is that not correct?"

Harry studied Snape's shoes and tried to understand Snape's game. Was he looking for a positive answer, so that when Harry messed up, Snape could take away his only safe haven? Or was he looking for a negative answer, to sneer at him and remark on what a stupid, good-for-nothing brat Harry was?

"Yes." Harry mumbled in the end.

"Then pick a book and sit down, Potter." Snape drawled. Harry was _not_ expecting that. Although his first guess still held. Harry preferred a hundred beatings to be banned from books. Well, it was too late now.

He raised his eyes and took in the immense floor to ceiling library that occupied the walls of the sitting room. He walked slowly around the shelves, reading the titles but not touching anything, until something on language philology caught his attention. He touched the spine lightly, threw a distressed look at Snape – who was blissfully ignoring him – and slid it out of the shelf. It wasn't a thick book, but it still weighted a ton in Harry's hand. His heart had climbed in his throat as he looked over at Snape. He was still reading his own, worn book.

Harry looked for a nice, clear spot on the floor and settled down to read.

"Sit on the sofa, Potter, you are not a dog." Snape's voice made him jump visibly, and Harry sat frozen for a few moments, eyes darting from Snape – who had not looked away from his book – to the only sofa in the room. It was black leather, worn and soft looking. It was clean and smelled of spices and Chlorine.

Harry swallowed and got up, gently perching on the sofa's edge. When he was satisfied Snape wasn't going to chase him from the room or throw him out, he opened his book and began reading.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15.**

Harry did not like the bed. It was too warm, and the room was too big.

It took him hours to go to sleep, mainly because he knew he was going to have bad nightmares and he didn't want to wake up the professor with his screams. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was finding himself face to face in the middle of the night with an irritated and woken-in-the-middle-of-the-night Snape. Snape – this new, unfamiliar and _guardian-_ figure Snape – absolutely terrified him.

It was a heavy hand that settled on his shoulder that jerked him awake.

"Hush Potter, calm down." it was a deep rumble close above him that mixed with the fuzzy sleep in his brain and made him stop trashing around.

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to determine where he was. It was dark, but a ray of artificial light filtered through the semi-closed door, illuminating a dark shadow just above him.

Harry jumped into a sitting position, wriggling away as much as he could on the bed, away from the dark figure, his heart picking up and threatening to perforate his chest.

"It was just a dream Potter, calm down." it was a soft whisper, which didn't sound annoyed or threatening.

"I'm sorry... sorry..." Harry began to mumble. He wasn't even sure why, he just knew he was scared, terrified. He had done something wrong, he instinctively knew this.

It took a moment for his mind to grasp his unfamiliar surroundings and identify whom the voice belonged to. Once he did, his eyes began to sting and bile rose in his throat.

"Hush," it was that soft whisper again. It made him shut up. He squeezed his eyes, waiting for the punishment. The pain that would signify he was paying for his mistake.

"Go back to sleep." Harry laid down again, waiting, definitely not going back to sleep but pretending too. Was Snape mad? Was he going to ship him off back to Hogwarts? Back to the Dursleys?

He was just not worth it, was he? Why should Snape put up with a freak of nature like him? He couldn't do anything right, he couldn't even _sleep_ right without annoying everyone close to him.

Harry felt the overpowering need to cut but after Snape had closed the door softly behind him, and after he had looked through everything he owned, he couldn't find his razor.

 _Well, that was just perfect, wasn't it?_

Harry went back to bed, his body too exhausted to keep him upright. He laid in bed, waiting for morning and berating himself.

Next morning Harry felt like crap. He didn't look in a mirror, but he probably looked like crap too.

He sneaked to the bathroom at six, after he had had a heart-attack hearing someone walking around the house a few minutes earlier. He was not used to living with other early risers, and what's more, the house was out to get him. The house _hated_ him and he hated the house. It was old, and everything creaked. Harry's heart couldn't have a minute's peace with the way every noise had him jump.

At six point fifteen he was downstairs, his stomach curling and trying to crawl out of his mouth at the smell of bacon and eggs.

"Porridge or eggs?" Snape asked him, not batting an eye at seeing him up so early. He was doing the cooking again. Harry really didn't know what to do about that.

"Porridge, please" he mumbled. And Snape placed a full bowl in front of him. Harry waited for Snape to fill his own plate and begin eating before he hesitantly dipped his spoon in the mush and brought it to his mouth.

It was honey-sweet. His mind flew to Draco, and he felt extremely sad. Hollow. He missed him. He had never missed anyone quite like this, and it had only been a day.

The noise of insistent clinking got Harry out of his thoughts and made him look at Snape. He was massacring his food and not eating. He was undoubtedly angry.

Harry really wanted to throw up, knowing it was his fault. He had woken the man in the middle of the night, and he had clearly not gone back to sleep either, if the deep purple lines under his eyes were any clue.

He wondered why Snape hadn't punished him yet. He was serving him _porridge_ instead of beating him up and throwing him out.

"I'm sorry." Harry said sincerely.

Snape paused in his knifing and looked up. His expression remote.

"Whatever for?"

"Waking you up. It won't happen again, I'm sorry." the words tumbled out of his mouth without him consciously thinking them. Snape shook his head and finally put a bite in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before talking.

"You can hardly control that, Potter. It is not with you I am cross." Snape said. A huge rock dissolved in Harry's chest, even though he couldn't fully believe him.

There was a shrill ringing tone and Harry jumped, his heart did a cartwheel. Snape calmly got his cell phone out and answered it.

"What?" he snapped into it. He _was_ very obviously angry. He listened, then got up and went upstairs to talk. Harry played with his bowl of white mush.

He was so lost in thought that when he heard a crick in the stairs he jumped again, barely holding back a gasp. He had been back at the Dursleys' for a second, and Vernon had been coming down the stairs to beat him up for some reason or other.

"If you're finished, put away breakfast and go amuse yourself in your room. _Quietly._ Do not come down, people that is best don't see you are coming over." he ordered. Harry hastily got up, cleaned his bowl and put everything in the sink before climbing the stairs and shutting the door to his bedroom.

This was an order he finally understood. This was an order he was _used_ to. The Dursleys would always tell him to make himself scarce when neighbours or Vernon's colleagues were coming over.

He hesitated a moment, before starting to look for his razor properly.

After he had searched all his things inside out, he concluded he must have forgotten it at Hogwarts, and wasn't that just absolutely brilliant? He would need to borrow a knife from the kitchen in the near future. Probably tonight.

The meeting downstairs must have gone on quite a while. At one point Snape shouted something, and Harry felt his heart trying to go into cardiac arrest.

A few hours later there was a knock on the door, and Harry shivered. It was still so weird of Snape to knock in his own home. Had he finally come to punish him? Vent out his irritation at his earlier guests?

Harry went to get the door and Snape was there, tall and perfectly composed, telling him a late lunch was ready. Harry was _not_ hungry but he went down anyway. He played with his food, putting bites in his mouth when Snape raised his eyes to look at him, and that was it.

"Draco sent you schoolwork." Snape mentioned while he ate.

"Oh."

"I'll give you my computer so you can have a look." Snape said. He had finished his lunch. He rose, put away his own plate and glass, and went upstairs. Harry heard the fourth step crick.

He stayed put at the table, not knowing what to do in this new house. He almost missed the Dursleys. At least there he knew his place. He knew the rules and what was expected of him. Here, he knew nothing.

Snape cooked, Snape cleared the table, Snape woke him up from nightmares and didn't knock his head off for making noises in the middle of the night...

"Potter. Come here." Snape called from the sitting room. Harry jumped at the sudden voice. He got up, put away his barely eaten food and step into the other room.

The professor had placed his thin, delicate-looking laptop on the low coffee table, indicating Harry should sit and begin reading. Snape didn't talk much when he was not lecturing, but Harry found his body language compensated and it was somehow soothing.

Harry sat and began scrolling down. He had never directly used a computer but he had observed Draco when he had showed Harry millions of videos on his, back during that quiet, blissful month at Hogwarts, right before everything went to hell.

Draco had sent his notes, _detailed_ descriptions of lessons and laboratories – including sneaky observations on the ineptitude of teachers and/or students – and ultimately asking – _demanding_ – him to write back.

Harry shut off the computer when it was almost dinnertime, telling himself he was going to reply to him tomorrow.

He could hear Snape clinking away in the kitchen and he wanted to help, at least this time.

In getting up, a flicker of reflecting light caught his eye.

He approached the fireplace he had wilfully ignored the day before. Snape hadn't lit the fire yet tonight, so he managed to inch closer to it. On the mantle was a small frame. It had caught his attention because, while the Dursleys' house was full of pictures of the family – mainly of Dudley – there wasn't a single picture in Snape's home. At least, with this one exception.

The frame was plain, unadorned light wood, and the smiling girl inside had her arm linked with another pale arm, belonging to someone who had been cut away.

That wasn't the important part though.

The girl was the important part.

She had a mass of wavy red hair, green eyes, and she was wearing a Gryffindor scarf and Hogwarts' graduating robes.

Harry picked up the photo, holding it close to his face to see the girl better. He knew who she was. He had seen this picture already.

It had been years ago, he had been cleaning some old photo albums of Aunt Petunia's. A picture with this same girl, dressed the same way, had slipped out.

Harry had picked it up to put it back, but his Aunt had seen him, and she had flipped out. She had screeched at him, torn away the picture and dumped it in the trash. At the time, Harry had thought it was just an old friend of Petunia's she had a falling out with.

He knew better now. Sirius Black had showed him a picture of his parents at their wedding during that insanely long drive from Surrey to Hogwarts. He hadn't cared much at the time. He had never known his parents, and his relatives had made sure he never got the urge to know them.

Harry traced his mother's smile, so open and _happy._ Would she still be as happy if she had lived, lived to witness what kind of useless being her son was?

When he was younger he used to dream his parents were still alive. His relatives told him they had been good-for-nothing, stupid people, but he thought, as a small boy, that parents had to love their children no matter what. He was a good-for-nothing stupid boy too, or so his Uncle called him, and his parents would have loved him, if they had lived.

He knew better now. Parents didn't necessarily love their children. Unconditional love didn't exist. The world was full of abandoned children and inept parents. And even if they _had_ loved him, they had died because of him. They certainly hated him now, wherever they were.

"Potter!" the growl made him flinch hard, and the picture tumbled from his hands. It hit the marble corner of the fireplace. The horrible sound of breaking glass filled the quiet room.

With his heart blocking his throat, Harry stared at the cracks running through the frame and felt his knees go weak.

"Potter." it was said with an exhale. It didn't sound angry. It sounded barely held back fury.

Harry started shaking, stepping back from the pieces of glass on the floor.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorrysorry..." words started spilling from his mouth, his heartbeat filling his ears so loudly he wasn't sure what or even _if_ he was mumbling something.

His vision became blurred as he saw a large form march towards him and he felt fear rushing through his veins, and he fled, feeling an odd relief that for once, he _could_ flee. He knew he was only postponing his punishment, but running away seemed like a good idea. It felt like he was doing _something_ at least.

He ran upstairs, and into his room. He couldn't lock it of course, but he could curl on himself on the ground, squashed between the bedside table and the soft bed.

He held his knees to his chest, shaking so hard he felt blood in his mouth. He didn't feel the pain from having bitten his tongue.

He was in a panic attack, he knew that, but he couldn't calm down. The panic just seemed to grow until he heard heavy steps climbing the stairs and-

 _-his Uncle was huffing after having taken the stairs. Harry knew the beating was going to be hell, because he had run and had made Vernon climb the stairs. His whole body still ached from yesterday, and the muscles in his arms burned from the work in the garden, and his stomach was cramped up from the lack of food. When was the last time he had eaten? Monday? Last Friday? Did it matter?_

 _Uncle Vernon slammed open the door to his room, raging and calling him names Harry knew by heart, and knew to be true._

 _Vernon picked him up like a rag doll, shaking him and slamming his head in the wall, telling him not to move as a belt came whipping on his back, the buckle hitting his ear and dragging across his already raw back._

 _Harry sank his teeth in his lip to keep the scream in. His Aunt did not like it when Harry made noises, although Vernon did._

 _It hurt. It hurt so much Harry passed out at one point, he didn't know when._

The hand on his head was not hurting. It wasn't hitting him, it was just resting against the side of his head. It was holding it against his knees, and that helped him breathe. He hadn't realised he needed air until then.

There was a voice talking to him. It was male, but it wasn't Vernon, and it wasn't Dudley. His mind whispered _Draco_ but that wasn't right either. This voice was deeper, more like the low grumble of thunder. It wasn't menacing though. It was soothing. Incredibly soothing.

* * *

Severus was angry.

He wasn't particularly tired, his mind was used to few hours of sleep. Although he would not have complained over a few hours' more of shuteye, he was not angry because of Potter, like the boy seemed to think.

No.

He was furious because of Dumbledore. That... man. Who thought the world was his personal chessboard, and he could just move _both_ sides _–_ the black _and_ the white pieces – to his liking.

He scowled at the meeting he had had with Bellatrix Lestrange. Lestrange was as crazy as her husband and her lover. And for Dumbledore to direct Bellatrix to Severus's home, when Dumbledore himself had placed the child there...

What. Was. He. _Thinking._

'Gather information' he had said. 'Divert attention' and 'hide in plain sight' had also been among the preposterous explanations.

As if Severus hadn't enough on his plate to last him a decade.

Potter was worse off than he had thought. It hadn't been as blatantly obvious at school, surrounded by other children and Draco, seeing him only a few hours every day. It was certainly blatant _now._ The boy needed a psychologist. Maybe a psychiatrist.

He was perfectly aware of the fact that he still hadn't addressed any of Potter's issues with the boy himself. That episode of self-harming was at the top of the list of topics that needed discussing. But he had yet to sit down and talk to the boy.

Looking back, perhaps he should have swallowed his resentment at Dumbledore and Life and just spoken directly with him. Severus, for his many faults, was perfectly conscious of what were his shortcomings, exactly. The struggle was trying to overcome them.

While _doing_ something he wasn't completely comfortable with wasn't a particular hardship anymore - he had done worse than taking in the son of his childhood rival - putting off disagreeable and uncomfortable _confrontations_ was still a weakness of his.

Snape was in a bad mood, someone would say. That certainly did not excuse him from growling at Potter when he saw the boy holding his picture of Lily.

Severus should not have lost his composure.

He regretted it immediately of course, but he could see the damage was done when the picture fell, broke, and Potter fled like a deer chased by rabid dogs.

Severus took his time in sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose and insulting himself and his father's temper, going to the broken frame and picking it up, along with all the shards of glass.

He couldn't bear to look at her, not right then, with all his emotions so close to the surface and with her _son_ broken upstairs.

He put the picture on the coffee table to deal with later, going to throw away the broken glass before Potter could get strange ideas in that brain of his.

Then he climbed the stairs, feeling old and stupid for his mistake, wondering if Potter could ever trust him now.

Draco had told him, of course, they had talked about it a couple of times before Severus left Hogwarts.

Still, when he saw him, rocking himself, his small, thin frame quivering so he looked like he was suffering from hypothermia, Snape was taken completely aback.

With three, long strides he was kneeling in front of the boy, gently releasing his bleeding fist from his mouth, murmuring nonsense to try and bring him back.

Severus almost curled up himself, when he saw the large – too large for his thin face – impossibly green eyes filled with salty water.

"Hush, Harry, hush," Snape wiped the tears from his face with his thumb, awkwardly patting his cheek and his hair to calm him down.

"Listen to my voice, Harry. Everything is all right. I'm not angry. Can you hear me? I'm not angry with you," Severus stopped his hand when he heard the sobs subdue, and the vacuous eyes blink and focus on a far away object.

Immediately, he moved to kneel on his right, so he wouldn't feel crowded, so he could see a way out, and not Snape blocking it.

"That's right. Deep breaths." Snape murmured, knowing he should stop touching the boy but feeling the overwhelming need to stay close to him, to protect him. To offer a comfort he had no experience of ever having received or given.

He let his hand fall on his shoulder, squeezing gently as he waited for the boy to come around.

His breaths evened out, and although shivers still racked his body, he had stopped crying and was now sniffling.

"Here. Clean your face." Snape held out a tissue in front of him.

The boy extended his hand to take it slowly, then wiped his eyes and nose, crumbling the tissue in his fist.

He kept his eyes lowered, his whole body rigid expect for the shivers and the careful breathing pattern.

"Does this happen often?" Snape wondered, with the lightest tone he could manage.

"No, sir." the answer, as always, was in an almost-there murmur. Polite as ever.

"Do you have a name for these 'episodes'?"

"Panic attacks"

Snape made a noncommittal noise. The convulsions had gradually stopped, and now he was all but leaning against the side of the bed, his body language turning away from Snape.

"What do you usually do after them?" he waited for an answer, prepared to wait a long time.

He did not pressure him, he did not move, he kept his breathing steady and his face as open as possible in case the boy looked up, although that was unlikely.

"Nothing, sir. I get up, and get to work." the reply came a little later. Snape contemplated asking more direct questions. He contemplated getting on a train or even an airplane and landing on the Dursleys' footstep, and asking _them_ not-so-polite questions.

"Perhaps what you should do is lie down and rest. Then you should eat." the boy nodded.

Snape got up, holding out a hand for him. Harry flinched, his eyes squeezing shut. Severus held the hand steady, palm up to help him to his feet.

When the blow didn't come, the boy raised his head to look at the hand. He stared at it a long while. Then his eyes flickered up, and Severus could see those bright green eyes he got to see so rarely.

Colour appeared on Harry's cheeks, and his long fingers came up to flutter on Snape's palm. Gently, Severus curled his fingers and pulled him to his feet, only to catch him around his torso when his legs gave out.

"Sorry. I'm sorry..." Harry began mumbling, pushing away from him. Severus ignored the struggles, making sure to lay the boy on the bed – easily, seeing how weightless he was. Snape really had to do something about that as soon as possible.

"Close your eyes. I'll come and wake you for dinner." he told him, and left the room.

* * *

 **a/n: NEW (and last) POINT OF VIEW! sooo? What do you think of Snape? He in-character enough? Reviews reviews reviews please!**


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16.**

Severus thought about supper for a long time. At last he decided that, seeing Harry's eating pattern these last two days, he would more willingly eat small, dry rations than one rich dinner.

He prepared a sandwich with salad and tomatoes for both of them.

He waited late to have dinner, almost half seven, so that Harry would have time to be well rested.

He would have to be, for the talk Snape was going to have with him, which he had postponed far too long. He knew he shouldn't have.

When he went to wake him, knocking on his door first, he did not expect him to answer it, clothes changed and face looking much too awake.

"Did you rest?" he asked, suspicious.

"Yes, sir." he whispered looking down. He kept biting his lip. There was already a bleeding cut on it.

Snape cupped his chin lightly – ignoring the flinch – and raised his head, making sure he stopped tormenting his lower lip.

Bright green eyes finally met his face.

"Look at me when you talk to me." Snape murmured too, to keep his voice soothing and not menacing. The boy nodded. Snape let him go and turned, gesturing for him to follow.

He sat at his usual place, facing the door but away from it, so that Potter could sit closer to the exit.

He ate, and watched as Harry did not touch the food in front of him until Severus told him to.

Once he was finished, he leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms.

"I had wanted for you to settle in first, before having this discussion, but I see now that might not have been the best strategy." he started. Harry's hands disappeared under the table, probably to fiddle nervously.

"I don't know what the situation at your previous home was, Mr Potter, but I can deduce the majority of it." Snape ignored the hitching breath, the nervous movements this proclamation produced, "As it seems you expect a similar behaviour here, I see a clarification is in order." he paused, exhaled and mentally prepared himself for the onslaught.

"For starters, there will be no abuse in this house, like the one you seem to have suffered at your relatives' hands."

"Sir-"

"Don't interrupt me." Snape said calmly, "You will not be hit. You will not be hurt physically in any way by me nor by anyone who enters this house. You will not have to do any kind of work not suited for a sixteen year old. You will help me around the house, but I won't get angry if you make a mistake or break objects accidentally. I _will_ get angry however if you hurt yourself or if you don't eat, unless you are able to give me a clear explanation for either." not that Snape would accept any kind of explanation for his masochistic tendencies. He had the bloody razor hidden in his bedroom and God forbid the boy found another way to cut himself.

"You will look at me when we're speaking, and you will ask me if you have questions, or tell me if there is any problem. Is all this clear?" he asked. The boy nodded slowly, looking at him with round eyes. Those beautiful green eyes that were so _Lily..._ Severus felt stabs in his chest every time he looked at them.

" _Do_ you have questions?" Harry's eyes lowered immediately as he whispered a 'no sir' to the table. Snape let this one go, getting up to put away his plate. Potter hurried to do the same.

"You can either come and read in the sitting room or you can go back to your room." Severus said, walking to his armchair and settling in with an open book already in his hands. His eye fell on the glass and the picture on the coffee table.

"I take it you had recognized your mother?" Snape commented taking care to swallow the tightness in his throat. He wasn't all that successful. Potter halted on his way to the stairs. He turned around slowly. He too, looked at the picture from a distance.

"Yes, sir." Severus could not deduce anything from that tone. He remembered too well the last time they had talked about his parents, and what had happened afterwards. He still did not understand the boy's reaction fully, and he put it away as something to bring up another time. Dumping too much information and too many questions on him at once could have deleterious effects.

"Are there many pictures of her at Petunia's house?" he asked, seemingly random. He knew there probably weren't. That horrible girl had always been jealous of Lily, for getting that scholarship into Hogwarts, for being so brilliant and full of life and friends... how _could_ Dumbledore have shipped the child off to that horse-faced witch _?_

"No, sir." Snape's focused stare forced more information out of him, "I had seen her only twice before."

Snape closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep his anger at Petunia and her despicable husband at bay. It would hardly do the child any good to see him angry now.

"You should take it. Keep it upstairs in your room." he said finally. He kept his eyes trained on the picture as the boy lingered hesitantly, until he made up his mind and approached the table soundlessly, carefully freeing the photo from the remaining glass and holding it in his hands.

"Thank you, sir." he murmured. He scurried away.

 _I will take care of him, Lily. I will atone better for what I did, I promise._

* * *

Harry fell asleep staring at the picture of his mother on his bedside. She was such a beautiful woman. And she wasn't alive anymore because of him. And because of Voldemort. Harry had come to the conclusion that he and Voldemort were equally responsible for what had happened the 31st of October fifteen years ago.

The next day, there was honey and porridge for breakfast. Snape was reading his newspaper.

Harry felt extremely awkward after the day before, and he definitely did not know how to act or talk or anything. It was worse than when he arrived.

Snape had talked of abuse, and that word had been cartwheeling in his head since that morning, when he had woken up. He was sixteen years old, he knew what abuse was. He knew that it happened to children and adults. What he didn't know was why Snape had applied that word to him.

Abuse implied a victim. A victim was someone innocent. That was syllogistical thinking. And by following this logic, if Harry was abused, and was a victim, he was innocent. Snape thought Harry was innocent? That wasn't right. He had told him himself, his parents had lost their lives because of him, he was hardly blameless.

He was guilty. Guilty of murder, guilty of being useless and absolutely a waste of resources for everyone who had had to take care of him.

Further conclusion was that Harry had not been abused.

That said, he was hardly going to tell Snape he was wrong. Now _that_ would be suicide.

As Harry played with his mush, waiting for Snape to get up so he could dump it in the trash, said professor lowered the big recycled paper and looked at him with his unfathomable eyes.

"I thought we had established you would eat, Potter. Unless, of course, you have a good motivation as to why not. I'm not throwing away any more food because you won't eat." the reminder was in his low expressionless voice.

Harry swallowed saliva, stirred the white paste and stuck a spoonful in his mouth.

"That's better." Snape went back to reading. Harry felt almost like pouting at this ridiculousness. Snape shouldn't be wasting food on him in the first place! How dare he accuse _him_ of throwing away food?

Harry forced almost all of the porridge in his stomach. He felt sick, but locked his lips and breathed in and out with his nose.

"That's enough. You can go." Harry disappeared as soon as he heard that permission.

He managed to finish all the homework Draco had sent via mail, and then he stayed in his room, flipping idly through his Chemistry book. In the end, he had come to really enjoy Chemistry. Must have been all the time and effort he had put into it.

When a single knock pulled him out of his laziness, he jumped guiltily. He hoped Snape wouldn't notice the fact as he went to open the door. The professor was already halfway down the stairs.

"Lunch, Potter" he called over his shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes, taking a moment to knock his head against the doorframe. Honestly, how long was Snape going to keep up this facade? And when was he going to make Harry earn his keep?

There was a single sandwich on his plate, and two on Snape's.

Harry furrowed his brows but sat and ate it, after the professor sent him a Look.

He decided he couldn't wait anymore. If the other shoe was going to drop, it was going to be Harry deciding when it was dropping.

Snape had said he could ask him anything? Fine.

"How did you know my mother?" He remembered at the last moment to look at him in the eye when speaking to him, so he flickered his eyes up at the end of his question and then down again when Snape directed his black gaze to him.

"We were in the same year at Hogwarts." was the cool response. Harry was so shocked he had answered – he had _actually_ answered – he chocked on his mouthful of bread and chicken breast.

"Were you... friends?" he asked. Hating the fact his heart was racing from the adrenaline in being so direct with an adult, but at the same time, needing to know. Was that why Snape hated him? Was that why he had offered to hide him from a serial killer?

Snape did not answer right away. Harry, with his bird-like nibbles, managed to finish his sandwich before the man spoke again. He had given up hope he was going to reply at all.

"We were. Lily was... special. She was a good friend to me." Snape said at last. He cleared his throat and got up, clearing the table. Harry helped quietly feeling so stupid for having pried. Obviously, it was none of his business.

"Draco has been pestering me about you again. He says you promised to write back." Snape said, his voice still expressionless. Harry wanted to throw his head back and groan. Draco.

What was he going to say to him?

"The laptop is in the sitting room." Snape said, before he disappeared upstairs.

Harry crouched in front if the thin computer and stared at it.

He clicked on Draco's last mail, opened a reply page, and stared at it.

He stared.

Was saying he missed him too much? Was saying he didn't sleep well anymore now that he wasn't always by his side too clingy? To needy and desperate?

Besides, shouldn't Draco have already forgotten him? Or at last, be angry with him? He had acted very angry and offended when Harry had left. He had been hiding it, but Harry had seen it anyway. He knew Draco had his own problems at home, with his father, with his real plans for the future and all that expectation as a Malfoy and...

He really shouldn't be wasting his time on Harry, the concept was so ridiculous it was simply surreal.

Harry realized he had worked himself into an anxiety attack only when he tried typing _dear Draco_ and what came out was _xsae Dtac9_ from how much his hands were shaking.

Wasn't that perfect.

So he curled his legs to his chest and leaned his back against the sofa, breathing deeply and slowly, until the shaking was gone and his mind was sufficiently blank.

He then typed very carefully out his e-mail, trying to sound cheery and relaxed, so that Draco would stop bothering Snape and start thinking more about... other things that weren't Harry.

 _Dear Draco,_

 _I'm really all right. Professor Snape has been a very good host. I have a nice room all to myself, I seat at meals three times a day and I get a lot of free time. Snape doesn't talk much, but you know that doesn't bother me. He reminds me a lot of Theo._

 _Thank you for the schoolwork. It was very nice of you to remember._

 _I hope the end of semester is not making you too busy, and that the soccer tournament is going well for Slytherin!_

 _Yours,_

 _Harry_

When Harry re-read it, it sounded really lame, but after another hour of staring, it didn't get any better, neither in his head nor on the screen, so he just sighed, clicked _send_ and closed the computer.

He was feeling a little tired for some reason, and uncomfortable. His eyes itched.

He was not used to so much free time without chores. He was not used to pretty much anything that went on in that house, it was so different from the Dursleys'. And _Snape_ was so different from the Snape he had met in September.

The change had been gradual during the two months, but now, thinking back, Harry realised Snape was now more aloof than spiteful in his regards.

He wasn't complaining of course! He was more than happy for the change, he just would have liked to know the reason behind it.

An aloof Snape Harry could deal with. Aunt Petunia had been aloof more than spiteful too, the last five years or so of Harry's life, less frying pans to his head and more ignoring him, which was just fine by him. He had never quite understood the change, and hadn't had time to really bother investigating, since her place had been taken up by a second – now fully grown – whale in the house.

It was predictable that at dinner he had no appetite at all. The soup didn't smell too bad, and it wasn't all liquid – it tasted fine actually – but his stomach just couldn't take it.

He didn't just _feel_ like puking, if he forced one more sip of it, he'd _need_ to.

So he sat the spoon down, and closed his eyes to try and keep calm. His throat hurt.

 _Keep breathing._

"Something wrong, Potter?" Snape asked, immediately noticing him.

"I'm-I-I'm not... very hungry, sir." he said, feeling blood rushing in his veins, feeling hot all over. He felt sick.

"You didn't touch your dinner."

"I know, I just..." Harry felt pinpricks at the corner of his eyes, and squeezed them shut. It was then he realised just why he felt so sick, and why he had felt so uncomfortable all afternoon. He _was_ sick. He probably had a fever.

"Please sir, I just-" Harry bit his lip, hating his feverish brain that often spoke without his consent. It was hardly going to help his situation if he started _begging_ the man!

He couldn't believe he was sick _again,_ and Snape would feel like he had to take care of him, _again._ Maybe he wouldn't though, maybe this was the time he'd chuck him out the back door, to sleep it off in the shed. Third time's the charm, right? Harry would totally understand. Who wanted to have to play nurse to a sickly, awkward and annoying sixteen year old?

"Potter?" Harry's heart was beating rapidly again, and he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but his mind was too fuzzy, and everything felt far away from him.

He cringed at the loud screech Snape's chair made when he got up, and he flinched and mentally hit himself when the man grasped his chin and inclined his head upwards.

"You have a fever." he said low, his tenor voice vibrating through his arm and to Harry's skin.

"I'm sorry." Harry said, because he knew he was a nuisance, and Snape was pinching his nose because he was holding back from knocking him into a wall and then chain him in the back yard or something.

"Come on, you're going to bed." the low, velvet voice said, and he grasped him by the shoulders and helped him up from the chair, up infinite stairs and finally into bed.

Harry fell asleep when he wasn't even fully horizontal yet.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17.**

Severus used his index to turn Harry's face towards him. Concern made his eyes narrow as he felt the heat radiating off the boy, and the bright eyes... too bright.

"You have a fever." he sentenced, stepping away to pinch the bridge of his nose to control his spiralling emotions. The child was going to make his hair turn grey before he hit forty.

He remembered how Potter had managed to attend a full class with thirty-nine degrees of temperature, but he had thought he had made it clear he should _not_ just endure a fever! He should be in bed!

"I'm sorry." Severus heard the whisper only because the house was so quiet. That made his concern spike, and his anger melt.

Christ, but the boy was messed up.

He chose to ignore the apology, helping him up and taking him to bed. He locked his jaw against the surge of hatred he felt for the people that had hurt him. Hurt him so much the boy was so undersized and underfed Severus could have easily picked him up and just carried him to bed.

He sighed softly as he adjusted his covers, Potter already asleep.

He went to find a thermometer and stuck it under his tongue, although he hardly needed the instrument to know he had a fever way too high, and a too unreliable threshold for pain.

He went to get aspirin and a glass of water he placed beside the bed.

He pulled the curtain closed, so that the boy could sleep well into the day tomorrow if he managed to.

The desk was perfectly neat, his room in perfect order. Something inside Snape's chest ached at the emptiness that emanated from the teenager's room, which looked more like a monk cell than anything.

Perhaps Draco was right, Harry needed a little company. And Severus obviously wasn't fit for that part.

He might be young still, but he had too much darkness, too much pain and too many demons... he was more likely to infect other people like a disease than cure Harry from his own.

* * *

Severus went to check on Harry as soon as he woke up, and he found him trashing in his bed, mumbling nonsense and squeezing his eyes as if in pain.

Severus spoke to him in soothing tones, one hand patting the messy hair awkwardly. When the boy fell back into a more tranquil sleep, Snape left to make breakfast, preparing a light porridge, hoping that the fever wouldn't interfere with the strictly calculated diet he had set up for the boy.

When he went back upstairs, approaching midday, the kid startled awake as soon as the door opened. Severus maintained with difficulty his expressionless face as he stared into those wide eyes, which were staring back at him like those of a deer caught in flashlights.

"Sorry, sir. I'll get up now. I'm sorry-" the child started mumbling again, getting agitated.

Severus rolled his eyes and sat the breakfast tray on his lap, careful to not let him spill it with his heavy shivering.

"Are you cold?" Severus asked. Potter paled even more – as if that were possible – and looked down, murmuring a 'I'm fine, sir' Severus barely caught.

He wasn't convinced, the boy was shaking too much, so he ordered him to eat and went to the room's cupboard and took out a spare duvet he spread on the boy's legs. If the boy needed it, Snape hoped he'd adjust it himself.

From the pained, almost tortured look on Potter's face as he sunk the spoon in the porridge and pulled it out to his mouth, Snape could see he didn't feel like eating much.

He sighed to himself, wondering _what,_ exactly, he was going to do with him.

He moved closer to the bed, extending one hand slowly to feel his temperature. Harry flinched, and the spoon fell from his hand and into the bowl, but Severus ignored it, and his fingers touched his warm forehead. It was still too warm.

"Eat what you can of that, then take the aspirin and drink a lot of water." Snape instructed, moving the bottle he had brought within the bed's reach.

"If you need anything, just come and get me. I'll be downstairs." he told him.

He left, leaving the door ajar so that if the boy called out, he'd be able to hear.

In the sitting room he paced. And paced.

He hated not being able to leave. He had his hands tied from anything he wanted to do.

At last he scowled to himself, swallowed his pride, went to the phone and dialled the number.

The phone was answered on the second ring.

" _Snape_. _What a surprise to hear from you."_

"Hardly."

 _"What can I do for you?"_

"I need a favour." Severus could practically see Lucius licking his lips.

 _"Of course. Anything for an old friend."_

"Look up Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Little Whinging, Surrey. I want them to find themselves with no money, no home, and no connections."

 _"You want me to destroy them?"_

"Yes."

 _"May I ask what have they done to you to earn such distaste?"_

"I don't believe that is any of your business. I'll await a message to know it has been taken care of." Severus said curtly.

 _"The message will be loud and clear. I'll have their picture posted on the front page of every newspaper in Britain."_

Snape closed the line. He growled a little, not really liking the fact that he had been forced to own Malfoy a favour, but not seeing a way around it. Corrupted or not, and under investigation or not, Lucius Malfoy remained one of the most powerful figures of their society. As he'd said, he was able to have print whatever he wanted on any newspaper of Britain. And who controlled the media controlled the world after all.

Snape went to check on Harry periodically throughout the day, and he worked on a personal project he had begun during the summer the rest of the time.

At one point the doorbell rang, and Snape had to leave his laboratory in the basement to answer it.

"About time." he drawled, as he let Nymphodora Tonks inside.

"Wotcher, Severus. It's good to see too." the young woman said.

"Have you brought everything?" he asked. Tonks grinned at him and dumped the seven paper bags in her arms on the ground.

"Of course I did. In here you have some food, I'm a vegetarian, so it has been very hard for me to pick up meat. You should be supremely thankful. Clothes in here, I hope they fit, and in here we have two guns, pepper spray and a missive from Dumbledore himself" she smiled at him, her straight white teeth recognizable even under the old lady disguise she was wearing.

"That should be everything." Severus nodded, meaning to end pleasantries and get her out of his house.

Tonks had been hired by McGonagall as a teacher as an ulterior protection for Harry Potter, but still, Snape did not take well to strangers in his house. No matter that Tonks was the best agent the Order had ever had in the field of disguise, Snape did not feel comfortable having people knowing where his house was. The risk that someone tailed her was simply a percentage that – as small as it may be – Snape was not willing to risk.

"How is Harr-"

"He's fine. Kindly return to Hogwarts, and make sure no one sees you." Snape told her, opening the door for her.

After she pouted childishly at him and finally left, Snape sighed, carried the shopping to the kitchen and began putting everything in order, folding the clothes she had brought for Harry and bringing them up.

Harry was awake, staring at the ceiling when he came in.

"Do you still have a fever?" Snape asked, as he set the pile of clothes and the missive on the empty desk. The boy sat upright and shook his head, a little colour spreading on his cheeks.

"Let me check." Snape said, and touching gingerly the boy's forehead. It was definitely cooler. "Temperature?"

"Thirty-seven" was the immediate answer. Snape nodded satisfied enough.

"Who..." the boy shifted uneasily, looking down. Snape was not a patient man, but in this case, he recognized the importance of being so. He waited for Potter to finish the question.

"Who came..." his eyes flickered up, as if to check his expression, "who was at the door?" he whispered softly.

"Professor Tonks." he replied gravely. He hesitated, unsure if he should expand that answer, but then Harry's eyes – _her_ eyes – looked up, with his head cocked to one side just like she used to do when waiting for more information and Snape sighed, shaking his head slightly at his weakness.

"She is an agent from the Order. She had been working at the school for your protection." he said at last. That seemed to satisfy the boy, who nodded slowly, and watched him from under his eyelashes. Waiting for his cue.

"If you feel well enough you may come down to read, or watch the telly. If you prefer to rest some more, you may do that also." Severus told him.

He stood, not surprised at all as the child scrambled up from the bed and stood awkwardly by it, waiting for Snape first.

Severus walked out the room. Harry made his bed carefully before following him downstairs.

As Harry settled down with a book in his lap instead of turning on the telly – and Severus marvelled at how wrongly he could have misjudged the child, blinded by old hatred and prejudice – Snape worked on his laptop for a while.

He answered all the emails that needed answering, and exhaled loudly at the fifteen emails Draco had sent, requesting to come and see Harry. Severus had ignored them yesterday, because Harry had been sick, and today because he was still not well enough to handle the explosive demanding energy that was Draco.

He knew he had to eventually give in, only if Harry agreed, of course.

He was not at all surprised when the phone rang the minute after he had replied to one of the emails negatively.

Severus got up to answer the phone, throwing a searching look at the way Potter had jumped at the loud ringing and was still looking a little flustered.

"Snape." he said into the phone, even though he knew there was no need.

 _"Uncle._ Please, _why can't I come over? Give me_ one _good reason._ " his Godson whined from the other end of the line.

"It is very dangerous-"

" _From_ what _? What is this danger everyone is talking about?"_

"Do not interrupt me, Draco." Snape thundered. He was using all his patience on Potter, and he certainly didn't have enough left for his Godson's spoiled child antics.

" _Sorry_ "

"It is classified information. You will not ask again. As to coming here, I do not think it is best for now."

 _"But why? Is Harry all right?"_

Severus hesitated, wondering if he should tell him or...

" _Is Harry all right, Uncle?_ " Draco immediately picked up on his silence.

"He's going to be fine, Draco. Don't forget your composure." Snape waited for him to collect himself before going on, "He has been a little unwell, and I have him resting for now. I will talk to him, and if he agrees, you can come the day after tomorrow."

 _"Of_ course _he'll agree!"_ was the indignant answer.

"Goodbye Draco." he drawled.

 _"Wait! Let me talk to him._ " Severus hesitated. Then sighed exasperated at teenage drama and placed the receiver face-up on the small table.

"Potter," he said, going back to the sitting room, "Draco is on the phone for you." was all he said, before he went back to work.

He saw out of the corner of his eye Potter blush slightly, fumble with his book and getting up, a deep frown between his eyes.

He was back a few minutes later with still red-cheeks and eyes that didn't lift once from the ground.

* * *

Harry was eating lunch with more appetite than he had felt in a long time. For some reason, eating food Snape had specifically prepared _for him_ made the simple sandwich taste so much better than the sandwiches at Hogwarts.

"Would you like for Draco to come over?" that was Snape's baritone that broke his intense concentration on chewing. Harry's eyes widened as he stared at Snape, before ducking his head to scramble his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"Isn't it dangerous for him?" he asked tentatively. What really baffled him was how Draco could still be so fixated with him, after almost a week of them not seeing each other. He was supposed to have moved on, forgotten about Harry completely!

"There have been no news of Riddle, and he would be staying here only two days. I'm sure I can get Chief Dumbledore to agree to this. If that is what you want." He added the last part with an oddly intense phrasing. Harry wriggled his fingers together under the table as he thought. Nobody had ever asked him that. The concept of making a decision with no strings attached like that… it scared the shite out of him. He did not want this kind of decisional power. He wasn't fit for it.

"Does _he_ want to come?" he mumbled. If Draco wanted to come, who was he to deny him? Snape made a noncommittal noise, one of annoyance.

"It doesn't matter to me what _he_ wants right now. I asked you what _you_ want. Kindly think about it and answer." The deep, sharp tone made Harry's palms sweat but it failed to provoke any panic. He didn't have to remind himself to breathe. His voice was oddly soothing, even when giving him orders.

"All right" he said. The truth was, he _was_ dying to see him again. He felt selfish and egocentric to an extreme, with Voldemort looking for him and all, but he just hoped Draco would kiss him, and make him forget every worry, only for a while.

"I will arrange everything so that he can be here on Saturday." Snape said, getting up. He left the dish in the sink. Harry washed the dishes and went up stairs to read some more.

He wished he could do something _productive_ and _help_ Snape around the house. It had been a long time, but the warm bubbles in his blood reminded him of that desire he had long learned to suppress. He really wanted to _please_ Snape. Stupid concept, he knew he was crap at pleasing people, but the feeling was too great, it cut away his breath and made his body quiver with a silent ache.

If there was just something he could do for him…


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18.**

When Harry woke on Saturday, at his usual five-thirty, the corridor outside his room was lit. He rolled out of bed and inched the door open to see. He could hear the now familiar sounds of Snape making breakfast and a male voice chatting to him. The words were indistinctive, but the timbre was unmistakeable.

 _Draco._

His heart squeezed. He hurried to the bathroom to get presentable, working almost fanatically on his tangled hair to no avail, but he hesitated once reached the stairs. Horrible doubts assaulted his mind, threatening a panic attack.

 _What if Draco had come here only to mock him? What if he didn't want to see him ever again? What if he had learned of Voldemort and was terrified of him? What if something happened to him_ while he was here? _What if, what if, whatif whatif-_

 _BREATHE. Just deep breaths._

Harry curled his fists so tight his nails broke the skin. Pain helped centre him. He tiptoed downstairs, carefully avoiding the squeaky fourth step, and stood right outside the kitchen, hidden by the caramel wall before the door.

"-but how can _she_ be an undercover agent? She has worse coordination than a three-month old baby!" Draco was saying in a low haughty voice, probably trying not to wake him.

"Agent Tonks is highly qualified Draco, stop stressing about it. She was hand-picked by Dumbledore himself."

"Are you telling me Harry's life is solely in the hands of a clumsy new-born and a decrepit grandpa!?" Draco whisper-shouted.

"And myself. Do _I_ measure up to your expected standards of bodyguard?" Snape replied in his sarcastic drawl.

"You are the only person with any sense in this-"

"Mr Potter, you can join us for breakfast instead of standing there." Harry's heart jumped in his throat. However, he didn't have the time to pale or blush because Draco shouted "Harry!" and threw himself at him, choking him, and Harry was completely at a loss.

He had never been hugged. No one had ever been happy to see him, nobody had ever noticed him enough to miss him when he wasn't there.

As hard as he tried, he couldn't hold back the tears. He choked on a sob and hid his face in Draco's shoulder, his own arms coming around to hold him, hold onto him like the one, true, solid and tangible proof that he existed. He existed for someone.

"I'm here now," Draco whispered in his ear, and Harry gave a nod, letting himself drown in Draco's scent. He gave him one final squeeze before disentangling them.

"Come on Scarhead, let's have breakfast first. Then you can show me your room." Draco as always took the lead, grasping his hand and tugging him to the table.

Harry kept his puffy, burning eyes on the porridge in front of him, too embarrassed to look at whatever expression Snape was wearing at that sad display of neediness.

"I was just complaining to Uncle Sev about the ungodly hour professor, or should I say _agent,_ Tonks woke me up in order to come here. If that doesn't prove you how much I wanted to see you, nothing can. I had to get up at two a.m. in order to be presentable by half past three. It was _brilliant_ though. The whole 'traveling undetected' crap-"

"Language, Draco" Snape reminded him only half-heartedly. Harry let himself be lulled by Draco's steady drawl.

The early breakfast finished around six, at which point Draco sprung to his feet, got a hold of Harry and towed him upstairs, completely oblivious to his protests about leaving all the plates on the table for Snape to deal with.

Draco knew the house well. He went straight for Harry's bedroom – probably a guest room then – and shut the door behind them. The moment they were alone Harry found himself enveloped in warmth again, Draco's expensive cashmere sleeves brushing his face as long fingers tangled in his hair and held his head. Wet lips brushed his, then moulded against his, and the warmth turned to heat when slick, vehement tongue invaded his mouth, rolling over his gums and tickling his palate. Electricity burned through his veins, igniting a fire in his gut, and lower.

Harry whimpered into the kiss, feeling too much heat but at the same time _needing_ more of it, more of Draco.

Shirts came off with a little stumbling and then Harry was pushed back, and he huffed in surprise as he found he landed on the mattress. He hadn't been aware they were moving at all.

Draco on top of him chuckled, ducking his head to lick a slow, torturous trail from Harry's collarbone to his earlobe. Harry moaned and flailed his arms, trying to crush Draco to him and at the same time touch as much of him as he could.

Their mouths found each other again, and then Draco was rubbing their bodies together making sparks shoot across Harry's brain, making him see starts. Draco groaned into his mouth, and that sound more than anything brought him higher and higher, until all Draco had to do was slip a hand between their rolling hips, and grasp Harry through the cotton of his pyjama trousers. Light exploded behind his eyes, then momentary darkness clouded his brain. Draco fell limp a few seconds later, a warm blanket covering him, wetness cooling between their bodies.

"School is boring without you." Draco said at one point. Harry felt his heart swell, threatening to burst, _aching_ to let lose all those words he hadn't allowed himself to think. He couldn't answer. He wrapped his arms more securely around his lean, sculpted body and closed his eyes.

But because this was Draco, and Draco loved the sound of his voice, it was inevitable he would not-so-eventually break the bliss of the afterglow.

"Are you going to tell be what all this 'classified' rot is about?" he asked, his fingers strumming idly over Harry's chest and nipples, effectively breaking whatever brain capacity he had.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Why were you exiled to this place? What does Snape have to protect you from?"

"W-why do you assume Snape is protecting me?" Harry had distanced himself from Draco and was now sitting up, extremely aware of his exposed skin. He was careful to keep his back turned away from Draco's sharp eye.

"Considering that one, you are Dumbledore's protégé, two, there is an undercover agent placed at school for your benefit… and three, the fact you were placed in the highly undetectable house of the greatest chemist Europe has seen since the early nineteen-hundreds and the best spy Scotland Yard has had in the last century… I don't know, I just got a hunch is all." He said it lightly but his eyes were dead serious.

Harry swallowed, hating how his palms had begun to sweat and his chest to ache.

"Draco, I can't…" he looked at him imploringly.

"But _why_ can't you tell me? Don't you trust me? Aren't we… friends? More than?" under other circumstances, his voice would have sounded amusingly near a whine.

"I don't want to put you in danger." Harry whispered, torn. He extended one hand tentatively and to his greatest relief, Draco caught it, interweaving their fingers.

"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't this already pretty dangerous?" he said it with a smirk but immediately Harry's chest became hollow.

It _was_ dangerous. _So_ dangerous. Why had Snape agreed to this? What was _Harry_ thinking for saying yes? What if Voldemort was watching the house, or the school, and he saw Draco and connected the dots? Harry felt nausea at the thought.

"Hey. It's all right. You can tell me later." Draco kissed his hand and smirked snobbishly, "Why don't we go out and kick a ball around? I bet you miss soccer, I know I would after a week segregated in this shitehole."

"Draco!"

"What? It's true. I care for my Uncle but his impenetrable fortress is a decaying shed." Draco jumped to his feet and began putting his shirt back on, "Come on, let's go outside!"

Harry got dressed for the cold weather and then followed him downstairs and out the back, into a small – rather tiny – dry garden. He had spotted Snape reading in the seating room with a cup of steaming tea.

Draco got out a soccer ball heaven knows from where and then they were chasing it around and the blond showed him wicked tricks with it and the morning became lunchtime in a flash.

Harry felt the familiar guilt-twist in his gut for having left Snape alone to cook for all of them, but Draco's bright, never ending chatter kept it at bay.

He talked more of lessons at the table, and answered all of Snape's questions on the substituting professor and his lectures. Snape even smirked at Draco's blatant disparaging remarks of Slughorn's teaching methods and his immature favouritism.

After the meal, Harry was the first one to get up and quickly washed the dishes so that Snape wouldn't have any reason to complain and later prohibit another visit from Draco.

This thought shocked Harry but at the same time he couldn't help finally admitting it to himself. He loved spending time with Draco. He _needed_ Draco around… he didn't want to be without him again, he had missed him with an insistent ache he hadn't been aware of until Draco had come to sooth it away.

That was why he hated not telling him about his parents. About Voldemort.

But the fear that Draco would see him as a murderer too…

That Halloween night, after he had spoken to Snape, Draco had tried reassuring him but he hadn't know what it was about. He didn't know Harry was the reason his parents died, and he didn't know the serial killer was after him. The press, fifteen years ago, had told the story of the heroic couple who had sacrificed themselves in order to capture their murderer. Nobody knew the actual target had been Harry, and that _He_ was still waiting to finish the job.

Harry finished with the dishes, scrubbing with extra fervour to detach himself from that tangent.

The blond had to forcefully bring Harry back to the present by dragging him upstairs again and then sprawling on Harry's bed, a playfully seductive smile on his face.

Harry smiled and went along with it, stretching out beside him, their legs interlocking and their mouths meshing together. Draco conducted this kiss slowly, leisurely, his hands wandering but never becoming serious.

At last he pulled away and widened his eyes, trying to look innocent.

"Will you tell me what trouble you got into _now_?" he made his lower lip jut out in a pout.

Harry was more prone to roll his eyes at his antics than get worked up over not being able to answer.

Not _wanting_ to answer.

"Draco..."

"Are you involved in the mafia?"

"What? No!"

"Did you decipher a terrorist message, managing to thwart an attack?"

"Er...no"

"Do you have a very rare, but not contagious, disease?"

"No, Draco. Why-"

"Then why the bloody hell can't you tell me?"

"Because. It's dangerous for all the people involved."

"Harry, maybe I haven't been entirely clear. I don't give a rat's arse about 'people'. I want to know what kind of danger _you're_ in. My father is a very influential man... maybe he could do something to help."

"...I..."

"Come on, Scarhead," Draco changed tactic yet again, embracing Harry and tugging at his lower lip with his teeth, "tell me. You know you can trust me." he breathed into his mouth. Harry's head was getting seasick with all of that hot and cold shite.

"It has to do with my parents' killer." he finally mumbled, the words were out of his mouth before he had even consciously thought them. Draco pulled away sharply.

"Is this linked to why you were so upset that night?"

"No...not really. I just..." what to say? How much should he tell him? Could he really?

"Harry-"

"Voldemort escaped prison. Chief Dumbledore believes he is looking for me." There. It was out. It sounded so simple, so straightforward like this.

Draco paled and Harry lowered his eyes, unable to sustain the look of fear and disbelief in his eyes.

"And so they hide you _here_? In Cockworth?" his tone had gone up a decibel.

"Dumbledore says it's the safest place. There is no connection between me and this place, and as you said, this house is basically cut away from anything that might leave a trace."

"How long has he been out?" his voice was hollow.

"Since this summer. He's the reason I transferred to Hogwarts. It's away from London and Surray and from where my parents lived."

"Bloody hell." Draco said. Harry kept silent.

"Bloody fucking hell."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I shouldn't have told you."

"No, it's all right. Now I know what I should be worrying about at least, instead of stressing over what kind of incurable and deathly illness you could have."

Harry must have looked as unconvinced as he felt, because Draco got a hold of his hand and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"It's all right. Snape is a bloody amazing spy. He has connections all over, if this... _guy_ were to step foot in Scotland, he'll be the first to know."


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19.**

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Draco had to leave again for school.

Snape stood tall and austere as he watched the blond squeeze Harry so tight he thought he was trying to absorb him into his body.

Harry blushed, patted his back and gazed at him from under his lashes as Draco exchanged a nod with his Godfather and then followed what looked like a middle aged _male_ lawyer. Draco had assured him it was professor Tonks. Harry didn't care enough to investigate the matter further. He felt like his gut was trying to rip him apart from the inside and all he wanted to do was curl up someplace small and dark and cry.

Which was just pathetic.

"In the kitchen, Potter." Light touches of anxiety wrapped themselves around his brain at Snape's order, but he followed him, somewhat mechanically, into the other room.

He sat in his usual chair after the professor nodded to it.

"I do hope Mr. Malfoy's visit was pleasant company for you?" Harry heard a question there even if the silky voice didn't inflect much. The usual doubts assaulted his mind as he nodded that yes, seeing Draco had been nice. It had been wonderful really, like taking a breath of sweet oxygen after too many minutes under water but he wasn't going to say that to Snape.

"Eyes, Mr. Potter."

Harry flickered his eyes up to look at his sallow face a few seconds, while murmuring "yes, sir" then lowered them again.

The short silence after that was full of tension. Harry looked up only to gauge what was going on in the professor's mind, and he saw _his_ eyes darting around, as if preparing to say something uncomfortable.

All manner of horrible things sprung up in Harry's mind of course. Not being allowed to touch Draco. Not being allowed to see him again. Not being allowed to _talk_ to him-

"Draco feels a very strong… affection…for you."

"Yes, sir." Harry's whole skin was red and his heart was beating painfully fast.

"And do you replay those feelings?" Snape had to clear his throat. Harry did not know what was going on.

"Er, yessir." It was quiet for a full four breaths before the older man spoke again.

"You mustn't feel… obliged. I do hope that, if Draco as been presuming or pressuring you into anything-"

"What? No!" Harry's eyes locked with black ones, and too late he realised he had just spoken all over the professor. Almost shouted at him. _Shite_.

"I mean, no sir. Draco wouldn't… it's not like that. I…I-I care. For him." He amended in a more controlled tone. His voice was barely audible by the end, and he had to push his nails into the palm of his hands, under the table, to keep from flinching at Snape's every breath.

"Draco is very self-confident and strong-headed. He's not particularly sensitive to other people's emotions."

"I know" Harry mumbled, unable to hold back the quirk of his lips.

"It had come to my attention that you prefer to keep him at arms' length, and before he came here, if I'm not mistaken, you did not seem too eager to hear from him." Snape observed in his deep voice. No inflection, no particular sentiment in the statement. Harry's nervousness was slowly turning to irritation. He did _not_ want to sit here and be grilled on his relationship with Draco. Much less from his _Godfather,_ and _Snape_ to boot.

It was impossible to know what the man was aiming at, impossible to understand the true meaning behind his deceitful calm tone. Harry's nerves were fried and he was still reeling from the huge void Draco had left when he had walked out the door.

"I just don't want to be a bother." _Also, there was a fucking serial killer after his arse, what did he expect of him? Roses and kisses all day long?_ Snape seemed to ponder his murmured confession for a long time before nodding and completely changing the subject.

"Have you thought of any particular activities you want to take up to keep yourself entertained?"

Harry glanced around, at the small kitchen – clean but not well looked after –, at the gray curtains –despairing for a good wash – at the sad little garden just outside the kitchen back door, yellow and dead.

If Snape wasn't going to give him chores, perhaps it was Harry's duty to offer?

"I could…" _try turning the yard into a proper garden,_ but that sounded offensive, "weed the garden?" he said, ashamed at the hopeful note in his words. What he really wanted was to scrub the whole house on his knees until his hands became raw, but he better start small. In the garden he wouldn't bother Snape and he could get reacquainted with the whole physical exertion thing.

"Calling it garden is a bit of a stretch." The professor muttered, then he sighed. "You may do anything you want with it, if that is what you like. Open air might be good for you." He said, standing up and walking to his room.

"All the supplies you may need are in the shed."

* * *

Too late, Harry realized there wasn't much he could do with the garden in winter.

Harry had been looking longingly at the small patch of dry plants for a long time but he had had to admit, until early spring came around, the ground was too frozen to be able to grow anything.

What he _could_ do, clean it of all the dead brushwood and tidy the wooden shed, he had already done that morning, attempting to drown his feelings of loss for Draco's departure with manual labour. Snape had offhandedly told him he could run around with the soccer ball whenever he whished, provided it was during the light hours, but Harry didn't feel like playing without Draco.

Now he was right back where he started: useless an alone with his thoughts.

He did his best to keep away from Snape, worried his presence might irritate the man. He was easily irritated after all, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was become a bother. Especially after all the man had done for him.

This in turn brought Harry's mind to a thread of thought he had left hanging a while back.

How Snape was being so very _accommodating_ about the whole 'risking his life by keeping Harry safe in his very own home', how, if anything were to happen to the professor because of him, Harry would never be able to live with himself.

He wished there was something, _anything,_ he could do for the man.

He didn't know why, but he felt self-conscious about asking him to clean his kitchen. He didn't want to offend the man, and it wasn't like he could say it casually over dinner.

He shut his eyes tight and let his head _thund_ against the cool glass window of his bedroom. He wouldn't only feel guilty about being responsible – again – for his death, he had realized with despair. He would feel empty. Snape had come to mean a lot to him, almost as much as Draco.

Sure, the black bat was cold, irritable and still definitely despised him, – at least he thought so, the man was damn impossible to read – but he had also taken care more of Harry in the last few weeks than the Dursleys had ever done in sixteen years.

Snape didn't deserve an ungrateful freak invading his time and home, potentially getting him killed. _Draco_ didn't deserve a stupid, worthless friend, with a huge target on his back.

His relatives had been right, he _should_ have died that night, at the hands of the Monster, instead of surviving by killing his parents and causing a whole lot of other people to suffer, like Snape. That made him a monster just like Voldemort.

What had he accomplished in his life anyway? He _wasn't_ worthy of his parents' sacrifice, they had died trying to kill Him... and what had Harry been doing? Running away, cowering behind Dumbledore and Snape.

But maybe he was still in time. He could still do _something_ with his life to make up for their deaths.

After all, who was better suited to take down a monster, than another monster?

What did he have to lose anyway? He couldn't stay with Draco because he would be putting him in unimaginable danger, attracting Voldemort to him. He couldn't stay in Snape's house forever either, the man was bound to eventually explode and kick him out himself.

If he managed to kill Voldemort, perhaps Snape would even forgive him.

 _Don't push it,_ his brain reprimanded him. Making up for killing his parents and being a waste of resources until now was enough.

"Potter." Harry jumped out of his skin and almost toppled from the chair. "Chief Dumbledore is on the phone for you." Snape's silk baritone called from behind the closed door.

Harry ran his fingers to his hair to try ordering his thoughts. He got up and followed the professor downstairs to the phone.

He put it carefully to his hear, shooting the dark man behind him jumpy glances.

"Hello?" he said.

"Harry, my boy, so good to hear from you." even through the receiver, Harry could see the old man's eyes twinkle. The twinkle was in his voice, and in his surely smiling mouth.

"Yes, sir". _Pathetic answer._

"How have you been? I hope Professor Snape hasn't been too much of a loner."

"It's been fine, sir."

"Good, good. Now, I just wanted to update you on the Voldemort situation. My Order hadn't been able to track him down, unfortunately, but I am optimistic about all this. I have been thinking up a few strategies to draw him out, you see."

Harry tangled and untangled his fingers in the hem of his shirt, not sure where this conversation was going.

"How would you feel to be part of an Order mission, Harry?"

* * *

Harry's hand shook as he handed the receiver back to Snape. The professor's mouth curled into a deeper scowl as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Dumbledore." he said curtly, back on the line. Harry didn't wait around.

He climbed the stairs unsteadily and hid behind the door in his room, his mind reeling.

The missive.

Right.

In all the confusion after Snape had had professor Tonks bring him clothes, and then the fever and then Draco, Harry had totally forgotten about Dumbledore's letter.

It sat, white and innocent, in one of the drawers of the desk. Harry opened it and the sound of wood scraping against wood all of a sudden was the most ominous sound Harry had ever heard.

The red wax seal had a big O and P intertwined.

Dumbledore hadn't written down much, just as he hadn't spoken much on the phone. One couldn't understand anything from only hearing one or reading the other. But the two messages put together were clear, in that sort of vagueness but tangible way.

Harry breathed deeply as he re-read the words, willed them to burn themselves in his mind.

Would he be strong enough? _Could_ he be strong enough for this? For his parents? For the people he cared about?

Harry sunk back in his bed, one hand clutching the missive, in the other holding the picture of his mother.

So beautiful, so carefree. Her hair was fiery and it framed the most gentle heart-shaped face and wide smile. Looking at her, he couldn't really believe they were related. Even his eyes – which Sirius had insisted were _just like his mother's eyes_ – didn't resemble hers in the least. Hers were bright green, crinkled at the corners, with long, dark lashes. He knew his own eyes were a duller, darker green, pulled tight over purple shadows and framed by black glasses.

She had sacrificed herself for him though. His father and her had died because Voldemort had chosen baby Harry as his next target.

After sixteen years, He was still set on that target. Didn't he want to end it? Either way, the story would come to a circling close, he would do what his parents had done, and lure the monster out, or he would die trying. Either way, he would be giving meaning to his worthless life. He would be trying to help others – like Draco – instead of cowering and requiring others help him.

He gently placed the picture back on his nightstand, her bright smile looking towards him, and he carefully tore Dumbledore's letter into tiny pieces like he had instructed. He wished he could burn them, but he didn't think he would be able to actually get that close to the fireplace.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey ya! I'm very sorry for the long (long long long) wait. I know the chapter is short, but it's an update at least. It's to say I'm not dead and I'm working on this :))**

 **Next one will be much longer and lots of things will happen, I promise! Leave lots of reviews and stay tuned!**


	20. Chapter 20

Harry found he dreaded going to dinner even more than usual. Only after his mind had all but gone numb from sheer boredom and anxiety he went downstairs to find the kitchen, still empty. It was too early for supper and yet Harry's stomach crawled uncomfortably all over itself.

 _Should he?_

What did he have to lose? After so many months of knowing the man, and after two weeks in his home, he didn't think Snape would hit him unless it was something major. Cooking dinner didn't seem something major. Unless he burnt down the house. He was sure he wouldn't though, and if what he made turned out to be uneatable or not to the professor's taste, than he could just throw it away and order pizza or something.

The random idea of Professor Snape eating a slice of stringy cheese and tomato sauce with his hands made him almost burst in hysterical giggles.

Harry opened the fridge and poked around for eggs, vegetables and meat. He would make a shepherd's pie, which was a dish he knew how to make pretty well back at the Dursleys.

He found potatoes in the pantry and set to work, making sure to keep the working station and all the utensils clean once he finished with them.

A little over thirty minutes later, he had the pie in the oven and a side of vegetables that he had noticed Snape appreciated having at dinner.

He set the table carefully and looked up only startling a little when he felt the foreboding black presence of the professor at the kitchen door.

"You cook?" was the question, asked softly and with a raised eyebrow. Harry looked down, aborting the raising of his shoulders in mid motion and going for a verbal affirmative response instead.

Suddenly, the bright idea to cook for Snape didn't seem so brilliant after all. What if he hated people touching his stuff? What if he had bought the ingredients he had used for something else and Harry had messed up his cooking plans? What if-

"I'm eager to try the results of your work, Mr. Potter." Was what the professor said with the hint of a twitch around his lips, sitting down in his chair. Harry swallowed and probably blushed, a whole other series of 'what if's now trying to kill all his brain cells.

He carefully extracted the pie from the oven once the crust was golden enough, served it to the professor and a smaller bit for himself, put the veggies on the table and sat, his breath stuck somewhere between his nose and his lungs.

He watched – trying not to be too obvious about it – as Snape brought a forkful of food to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed and took another bite. He swallowed.

Black eyes – Harry didn't know why he used to think they were soulless, they looked deep and full of emotions then – met Harry's wide ones and he smirked.

"Surprisingly edible, Potter. You can eat your share now." He said, going back to his own food. Harry shook his head to clear it and focused on consuming what was on his plate. He was so anxious all the information his taste buds were sending to his brain was that the food was hot and its main ingredient was potatoes.

"What did Chief Dumbledore want from you, exactly?" Snape said once he finished. His plate was empty and a good portion of the veggies was gone as well. Harry sighed in relief before he registered the question.

"Er… um, my parents. He told me a little about my parents." He said. Which was true enough, Dumbledore had talked a _lot_ about how brave his parents had been. He had also expressly forbid Harry from discussing anything else about the mission with Snape.

The man made a noncommittal noise and his eyes seemed to become unfocused.

 _What the hell, why not?_ Was all the thought Harry gave the question before actually speaking. His Uncle would have probably snapped his neck for the cheek.

"How come you know so much about them, sir? About… that night, I mean." Snape's eyes turned to focus on him, and a quiver run up and down his spine at the dark look.

"I was…I had a part in Riddle's capture." Harry waited for more. He definitely wasn't going to _ask_ another question, he had met his quota of recklessness for the month, but he held his breath as he fervently wished the professor would say more.

"I made many mistakes in my youth and… my role in _his_ capture… I like to think as a first atonement."

It was very quiet. Harry thought about getting up to put away the dishes but a heavy sigh from Snape stilled him.

"It was not supposed to end that way. She shouldn't have been there. I should have intervened sooner…" the man was murmuring now, his expression blank but for the cold fire in his eyes.

"If only I had been braver." Harry though he mumbled. It was so odd seeing the professor so… at a loss. Harry regretted the question that had started this spiral. He hated himself for making the professor so out of sorts.

He felt rooted in place, desperately wanting to disappear and at the same time offer some kind of comfort to the man.

At last Snape got up and began to pile the empty dishes in the sink. Harry jumped to help but was stopped.

"You cooked, I'll do the dishes. Do something quiet in the living room or upstairs." He told him, a little brisk, but Harry didn't begrudge him that. It was still a wonder he hadn't kicked him out to sleep in the shed for the night.

* * *

That night felt like time had slowed down to give him space, as weird as that sounded.

Harry thought over Snape's confession – which had uncovered even more questions than answers really – and figured that he had done his part. The professor had done all he could. Now it was Harry's turn to be braver.

Leaning back slowly in his bed, still fully dressed, he crushed Draco's white handkerchief – the one with his initials – between his hands. Selfishly, he had kept it, clean and perfectly ready to be returned to its owner. Harry hadn't said a word about it when Draco had come. He felt more comforted than guilty, for once. It was a pale substitution for the real person, but it was something. He could almost pretend it still smelled like him.

It would be back in Draco's possession soon enough. Snape would have his house and his life back, Dumbledore one less problem to think about.

Harry knew it could look like a suicide attempt. A suicide mission, at the very least. He understood why Dumbledore had asked for discretion.

He remembered all the times his uncle had screamed at him that he wished he were dead. Even Uncle Vernon would be happy with the outcome of this mission.

It wasn't really a suicide attempt. It was nothing more than what his parents had done, as Dumbledore had said.

With his breath becoming increasingly erratic, Harry waited for Snape to go to bed. Then waited an hour and forty minutes, to be sure the man was asleep.

He was going to do this.

He put the handkerchief – he had played with it so much it was now damp with his sweat – in his pocket. He took the money that had come with the missive and silently gathered a coat – Snape had gotten that for him, somehow – then slipped out his room and downstairs, jumping over the fourth-last squeaky step.

Soundlessly, he opened the main door and breathed in the cold air of midnight.

Panic momentarily griped him as the moon's rays seemed to cast everything in ominous colours of silver and steel, and he lost all sense of direction for a few wild seconds.

Then the calm set in, and he walked out of the little neighboured, onto the fields and backwards to the road where the black car had first left them two weeks before.

Agent Tonks was there, waiting by another black car – Draco had called it a Volvo something – just like Dumbledore had said.

She didn't speak, saluting him instead with a grin and a wave to get in.

 _She doesn't know._

Nobody knew the whole plan, Dumbledore had said. It was safer that way.

"Here you go Harry, in case anything happens. Keep this on you at all times, all right?" she said, handing him a watch. Harry knew inside it was a locating chip.

They drove to Wiltshire. He knew because the woman had slipped it in while trying to begin a few conversations. Harry was too numb to really keep up, even though he liked Tonks.

At one point, he fell asleep.

Tonks shook him awake as they stopped at the only pub open that late, and they went in as Dumbledore had instructed.

From Tonks' wary glances and tense posture, it was obvious she was following orders without knowing any background.

"You're a quiet lad, aren't ya?" she said with a small smile as they sat down, breaking the odd silence.

Harry looked away, not knowing how to answer that, his eyes resting on the four other patrons. Two were lone drinkers. The other pair was together, sitting at a table farther back, dressed in dark clothes. One was a woman with long and wild hair, the man was wiry and sour-faced. They were talking in low voices to each other, and Harry soon lost interest. Instead, he was forced to focus on the plate of steamy stew agent Tonks had ordered.

They finished the awkward dinner after several more attempts on the woman's part to start conversation. She told him all about her training under Dumbledore, and about her undercover mission – her second – at Hogwarts. Harry wasn't too sure she should have been quite so chatty about all that, but he listened and didn't open his mouth but for appropriate smiles of encouragement. Tonks was pleasant to listen to, and friendly.

"Okey dokey kid. We'd better head on with our journey, Chief is waiting a few miles from here." She said, getting up. Harry copied her, whipping his head at the sound of other heavy wooden chairs scraping the floor. The couple in the corner was apparently leaving too.

The moment he and Tonks stepped outside, the cold wind seemed to claw at his exposed face.

"Harry, run towards the car." Tonks said then, voice low and serious. Harry turned blankly.

"Run, now!" she said with a push, as something other than the wind clawed at his hair. He ducked and sprung away – a well-honed instinct from all the other times his uncle had tried grasping his hair – and then turned to see what was happening. The man in black from inside was restraining Tonks while the woman cackled horribly and began chasing him.

It took a millisecond for Harry to recognize the woman from the picture Dumbledore had sent. The moment he did, he knew this was it.

Feeling guilty for the position agent Tonks was in, but only being able to hope she'd be okay, he turned and bolted down the street and towards the fringe of the forest that embraced the small town from three sides.

He ran without looking back, without hearing anything, almost without seeing.

His laboured breath was like thunder in his ears as he ran and paid single-minded attention not to trip and fall. He knew the couple was behind him even though he couldn't hear them.

He ended up in a small clearing and only then he stopped dead.

Voldemort was there.

He was impossibly tall, bald, dark eyes bloodshot and skin so sickly white it was almost green. Even before he opened his mouth or moved at all, Harry knew he was mad. The way he smiled – bloody gums and yellow teeth – only made him look more terrifying.

Suddenly Harry wasn't sure he could do this after all. He began to tremble so badly he bit his tongue accidentally.

He didn't dislodge his eyes from the figure in front of him as he heard other steps behind him on the grass, and the wild cackle of the woman that announced they had caught up with him. He was surrounded.

"Harry Potter" Voldemort spoke in a hiss, his right hand jerking feverishly with the metal object in his hand.

"Finally, you've come back to play. After all these years, I can finish what I started so long ago." His tone was a mellifluous whisper that made Harry's skin crawl.

 _Stall him, stall him, stall him._ Was all the information his brain was screaming at him. Harry swallowed several time as he fought the urge to scratch his skin raw or, better yet, cut at it until all that was left were bleeding lines. He felt dirty after having been touched by those red eyes.

"Dumbledore will catch you." Harry said, wanting to shout it but barely able to make the sounds at all. From the way the woman behind him cackled shrilly, he had sounded like a scared toddler. He bit his tongue purposely this time. He badly needed to cut, but the taste of blood in his mouth would have to do. He needed to focus. He needed to go numb. _He needed to stall._

"Dumbledore, you say?" the man let out a gut-twisting laugh, "Dumbledore is a senile imbecile. Thirty years I have run around England to purge the world of dirty half-bloods like you. Not once has he been able to _catch_ me." Voldemort spat the word, inching closer to him as he began to circle around Harry.

"My parents caught you. They almost put you in prison." Harry shot back, his voice stronger now.

Yes, his parents and Snape. He was finally living up to what they must have wished for him. He was being strong, and brave. He would do anything to repay what they had done for him.

"Stupid boy! They never stood a chance. And I killed them for such impudence!" Voldemort took another step toward him, his bloodshot eyes boring into Harry's.

"And what sweet pleasure it was, carving their bodies open, watching their blood soak their clothes…" he closed his eyes and sighed. Harry began trembling again, this time from revulsion.

"But you know, they needn't have died, Harry," the way the monster hissed his name made him want to throw up. Good thing he hadn't lifted a single bite from his plate earlier. "oh no. _They_ weren't impure. Only you were. Born of an English man and an Irish woman, you see. Mixed blood is dirty, impure. Your father contaminated the English blood with a foreign one. And while I may have spared him for not knowing any better, _you_ definitely needed to stop existing." Voldemort was less than three feet from him. Harry's breath began to stop forming little clouds in front of his mouth. "Your existence is an abomination. It is my mission, my _duty,_ to clear the country of these abominations, you see. Because you aren't the only one, Harry, oh no."

The woman let out a shrill laugh and that distracted Voldemort. Harry's instincts told him to run then, take advantage of the distraction and flee. He didn't.

"Quiet, Bella." The monster hissed, displeasure dripping from his lips. Then he turned back to Harry, and he lifted a hand to trace the lightening bolt on his forehead. His fingers were ice and rough.

"My unfinished work. I should set about writing the rest, should I not?" and then he was choking him by capturing his neck in the crook of his arm, one hand holding his head still, the other bringing the metal object that hadn't stopped twirling in his hand to his forehead.

Harry shouted out and fought to get away, struggling against the iron grip and the tip of a blade on his skin.

Somehow he was lying on the ground, a bony knee digging into his sternum, making him unable to breath, and a hand was still choking him.

Pain exploded in his forehead as boiling liquid dripped down his face. He trashed and screamed, trying to get away. The pain was blinding.

He stopped moving for a second when another shout added to his own. He squinted in the dark, not seeing anything – especially since his glasses had been somehow knocked off – but, behind the cussing that started above him, was a rhythmic sound that didn't belong.

 _Guns?_ was the last thing Harry though, before more screams erupted from all around him and a sizzling invaded his senses. He smelled something acrid and sweet.

* * *

 **A/N: Here is another chapter! I can't believe the story almost finished.**

 **Tell me how you guys liked it!**


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

Severus woke up with a headache. Not an unusual occurrence, especially after he had indulged in one too many glasses of whiskey the previous night.

 _Damn the boy._

The headache, however, prevented him from realizing only several minutes into his morning absolutions that it was far too quiet in the house.

While Potter's nightmares had lessened to a degree after Draco's visit, it was also true that the boy would always wake up between five and six a.m., and Severus would be able to hear the boy making his bed and getting dressed when he walked past his room.

It was now five past six, and the house was, for all purposes, still completely asleep.

Severus yanked the door to the bathroom open and stalked out, rapping twice with his knuckles on the wood before opening that door as well.

The room was empty.

Acid slithered its way around Severus' stomach as he marched downstairs, only to find that floor equally deserted.

"Potter?" he thundered, glancing in the small back yard, which was also empty.

He immediately reached the telephone and rang Dumbledore. Nobody answered.

Pressing down the panic and keeping it away from his mind – which needed to stay clear and sharp – was a deep, and frankly homicidal, rage.

He hurried to the library shelves in the living room and knocked books to the ground in his haste to reveal the smartphone he kept only for emergencies. He closed his eyes and practiced five different meditation techniques while he waited for the phone to switch on.

He tried Dumbledore again, then Tonks. After that he tried the number to Scotland Yard that connected him directly with all of the Order of the Phoenix.

Finally someone picked up. Unfortunately, it was Agent Moody, not a great fan of his back from the old days.

 _Hadn't he gone in retirement already!?_

Needless to say, he was less than helpful. Severus hung up on him after the first two growled sentences. Glancing at his watch, he barely took in the time. Harry had been missing officially for more than half an hour, and he still had nothing to go on but the fact that Dumbledore was obviously up to something and he was using the _boy_ for it.

Severus would not stand for that.

He dialled four other numbers – only one of which was inside Scotland Yard – and cashed in all the favours he had accumulated as a spy and when that proved lacking, resolved to blackmailing. In less than fifteen minutes he knew what Dumbledore had planed and was marching towards a helicopter Lucius had sent for him.

* * *

The pilot drove to the middle of the forest in Wiltshire. They searched the thick foliage for human activity and once they found it, the helicopter sought a clearing to land.

Severus didn't waste any time in pleasantries as he departed from the pilot and all but ran through the trees in the direction he had seen the gaggle of paramedics and police uniforms.

The scene that was presented to him almost let slip the panic he had been carefully subduing.

Bellatrix and Rodulphus Lestrange were being restrained by five agents, Dumbledore himself was there, talking sternly to a bald man foaming at the mouth.

Severus took it all in but didn't let his eyes linger. At last he spotted a shock of disarrayed black hair and a thin, almost translucent hand.

"Harry…" he murmured, more to himself than with the intention to call out. Then he was pushing aside paramedics and gently grasping that thin, translucent hand and almost sagging in relief when he felt the weak but steady pulse under his fingertips.

"Excuse me, sir, who-"

"What happened here?" Severus interrupted, not caring one wit what the medic had to say.

"That is classified, sir, who-"

"I am the boy's guardian and you will tell me his condition and what happened. Now." He used his best silky-threatening voice, staring straight into the man. He visibly gulped while his colleagues shuffled around.

"The damage is not life-threatening. He has lacerations on his forehead but was otherwise un-injured. Once at the hospital we'll be able to confirm everything and conduct a more thorough analysis. Psychological trauma is not to be excluded since…" here the man looked over where Dumbledore was still interrogating the man.

Voldemort.

He looked quite different from the last time Severus had seen him, working as a spy among his so-called followers. Fanatics and other assorted criminals really.

"Take him to the closes hospital then. You better contact me as soon as he wakes up or if there is information about him you need to discuss." He dismissed him. Then took a hold of the man's uniform. "Contact me and only me, do you understand?" he hissed. The man nodded hurriedly. Severus let him go and watched as he loaded the stretched inside another helicopter stationed there.

"Severus Snape, professor at Hogwarts College." He gave his contact number to a woman medic who looked brighter than the idiot he had talked to. She nodded minutely and the helicopter took off.

"Severus! My dear boy," Dumbledore chose that moment to acknowledge his presence – Severus did not flatter himself by thinking the old man hadn't known exactly what he was doing and where he was the second he had stepped into the clearing, if not before.

"Dumbledore." Severus' tone wasn't as warm, "pray tell me the meaning of this." It was closer to a hiss.

"We have apprehended Tom Riddle." Dumbledore said – dare he say it – jovially. Riddle growled and started hissing like a madman. Which he was.

"What was Harry Potter doing here?" Severus continued, almost blinded by his rage. The panic had faded with the relief of finding the boy alive. Now his anger could overrun all his senses unchecked.

"Please calm yourself, Severus. Harry is alive and will be taken care of. Of course, we will be needing his testimony at the trial-"

"Harry will not be standing within ten kilometres of that man again, Dumbledore." Severus interrupted. His voice was again, soft silk. Blue eyes regarded him without their usual twinkle. They knew Severus was not one prone to hyperboles.

"Of course… that is understandable. Perhaps a separate, discreet environment can be arranged for his testimony-"

"No." his tone was final. "He will not be revisiting the events of these last few days, whatever they may be. You will keep the boy _out_ of this. He has done enough." Spit flew from Severus' mouth at his vehemence.

"Now, now, my dear boy, Harry's words could-"

"I don't care if Harry's words could be able to grant Riddle the death penalty, Dumbledore. You have enough evidence and witnesses and _years_ of them that you can do without him."

At Dumbledore's narrowed stare Severus gave an almighty sneer.

"You will not seek him out again, Chief." He intimated, then spun on his heel and marched towards the helicopter of the two remaining that was preparing to leave.

* * *

Severus sat down on the plastic chair beside Harry's cot. The boy was asleep, drugged to his eyeballs and with thick bandages over his forehead. Other than that, he looked peaceful.

Severus thanked the heavens there were no biping machines or oxygen tubes tying the boy to the bed. Hospitals had always greatly unsettled him and after those couple of close calls during his spying days, he had been over glad he hadn't had to set foot in one for over twenty years.

Of course he would have to break even that so favourable trend because of Potter.

A soft knock on the door.

"May I come in?" Draco's voice floated over his shoulder. He gestured with his hand, not bothering to turn or speak aloud.

"My father only just told me. I came as soon as I could. I-" the boy was doing an admirable job of keeping his emotions in check, the beginning of a ramble the only betraying tick. Severus stopped him with a glance.

"The doctors say he's alright?" Draco asked. Severus nodded, eyes back on that delicate form on the hospital bed.

"But what happened? Father wouldn't give me the details-" Severus stopped the overflow of words which were sliding towards whinging.

"Dumbledore organized some sort of trap. Potter was bait, was manipulated to willingly offer himself as such. Scotland Yard and the Phoenix agents found them just in time." Severus summarized tonelessly. The thought of what Dumbledore had done, playing with the life of a _child_ , still sent hot red waves across his entire body.

Draco stepped forwards and grasped Harry's hand carefully.

"Is he in a medical coma? When will he wake up?"

"He went through a traumatic experience but wasn't dangerously injured. He's only sedated and on a lot of morphine. He'll wake up when he's ready."

" _Will_ he be okay?"

Severus didn't answer. As if the boy hadn't had enough hardships already, Dumbledore went and added facing off with his parents' murderer…

 _Calm._

"Can I stay here? And go home with you?" Draco asked in a small voice. He looked suddenly so much younger than seventeen.

"I'm not going home tonight. You can stay as long as you want, I'll arrange a way to get you home." Severus said curtly, before standing up from his chair and walking over to the yellowish sofa in one corner of the room. Draco promptly took the vacated seat and grasped Harry's hand a little more firmly.

* * *

 **A/N: hello people! I'm sorry this chapter is a little short but I din't want to leave you guys with the cliffy for too long. Also, I'm kind of concerned this isn't up to my usual standards... I just find Sev's POV the hardest and I want to do the character justice so... it took a while and I'm not completely happy with it.**

 **I'll go over it later for typos and the like but i really would appreciate your thoughts!**


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